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American Jewish Chronicle Series 


Sholom Asch 

I 

AMERICA 

Translated by James Fuchs 


Alpha Omega Publishing Company 
New York 



Copyright, 1918 

Alpha Omega Publishing Co., Inc. 


MAY -8 1918 


©CI,A497218 


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^^America” by Sholom Asch is the first of 
a number of books to be published by 
The American Jewish Chronicle, devoted to 
modern Jewish literature and art and to be 
known as the Americmi Jewish Chronicle 


Series, 



TN 1910, Sholom Asch paid a five months’ 
visit to the United States. His observa- 
tions on Ellis Island and his stay in New 
York supplied him with the double theme of 
America,” — the injustice wrought upon the 
newcomers by a well meaning but ignorant 
and none too sympathetic officialdom on the 
Island and the inevitable divorcement, right 
after admission, between unreconstructed 
Jewish parents and Americanized Jewish 
children. He felt that there was need here 
for some one to do for the immigrant Jews 
what, in his own words, ^^Harriet Beecher 
Stowe did for the negroes in ^Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin.’ ” Under this impulse, he wrote 
^^America,” which appeared at once in War- 
saw. It was translated, immediately upon 
publication, into German, Polish and Kus- 
sian. 

Its Kussian imprint in ^^The Neva,” a 
monthly of widest circulation, happened to 


Jff orii^m0rh 


synchronize with the infamous Beilis perse- 
cution, and helped in creating a strong pro- 
Beilis sentiment. Important topical parts 
were translated into French and Italian. 
Everywhere it was hailed as a masterpiece. 

The book belongs, in a sense, to the litera- 
ture of social protest, but there is a lyrical 
passion about it, an epic, Dickens-like patience 
with the gropings and stumblings of ignorant 
souls, an intense, affectionate regard for 
poor, tongue-tied Jews, an imaginative under- 
standing of image-ridden childhood, and, in 
passages, exquisitely suggestive hints of vast 
racial backgrounds and foregrounds* that 
raise the work, considered purely as an artis- 
tic creation, to the level of a classic. May its 
present introduction to the globe’s English- 
speaking nations contribute its share toward a 
better understanding of the author’s race and 
a better knowledge of his gift of literary ex- 
pression as typified in Sholom Asch. 

A few words of biographical introduction 
will be welcomed by those newly-won friends 
of Mr. Asch, in whom his masterpiece has 
aroused a curiosity regarding his personalia: 

Sholom Asch was born in Kutno, Kussian 




Poland, in 1880. Up to the age of eighteen he 
received the traditional training for the rab- 
binate which represented the routine — am- 
bition of his class and period. With secular 
enlightenment this ambition departed, and for 
the next three years the youth led the typical 
existence of a poor, self-sustaining student at 
the universities of Warsaw, Cracow, and 
Switzerland. His first book in Yiddish: “In 
a schlechter zeit,” appeared in 1901. Its 
publication was furthered by Isaac Leib 
Peretz. There followed, in 1902, a collection 
of provincial Ghetto-sketches, known now 
to fame wherever Jews foregather, under the 
name “In Stettel.’^ In 1905, his first drama, 
a Polish rendering of “As the Waters Flow,” 
went over the stage in Cracow. “Aufn Weg 
nach Zion,” appeared [in Kussian] in 1906. 
In 1907, Max Keinhardt produced in Berlin 
his “Gott von Nekume,” which created an in- 
ternational sensation and secured rank and 
place for its author among the great dra- 
matists of modern Europe. “America,” now 
first made accessible to an English-reading 
public, was written in Warsaw, in 1910. 

These dates are only the high-water-marks 




of our author’s achievements. Numerous 
other works have come in an unceasing flow 
from his prolific pen. Each passing year 
brings new novels and plays by Asch. There 
are sometimes several offerings in a twelve- 
month. Of these multitudinous writings it 
may safely be predicted that the siftings of 
time will leave enough to assure a niche in 
the gallery of the world’s enduring letters for 
the chronicler of the Western Passage of race. 


Smcrtea 


CHAPTER I 

'll /T EIR, the teacher, turned homeward after 
nightfall, having taken belated leave 
from his nearest acquaintances at the House of 
Prayer. He went home to take his farewell 
supper with his own before his departure for 
America. In his dwelling room there was only 
his youngest to welcome him, six-year-old 
Jossele, who stood on a wooden stool at the 
covered table. Catching sight of his father the 
little fellow in his joy hammered the table- 
cloth with his spoon and exclaimed in a 
childish treble: 

^^Knowest thou, father, what mother is cook- 
ing tonight? White little beans, white little 
beans 

The mother, Hannah Lea, protruded her 
head from behind the curtain that partitioned 
1 


america 




off a diminutive kitchen from the dwelling- 
room. Over her prematurely withered face 
flickered a smile of quiet enjoyment, and her 
stealthy glance called attention to the child. 

But the father said, with an affectation of 
severity in his voice : “Thou rogue, thou 
knowest mother’s fare, but what portion of 
the Torah we are studying this week is unbe- 
known to thee!” 

“Not so!” exclaimed the little one proudly. 

“Let me hear then !” And the answer 
promptly came forth: “Go thou!” meaning 
the scriptural portion opening with these 
words. The father, with the same affected 
severity, shouted : “Well, get thee gone then, 
little scamp!” Whereupon Jossele, full of 
zeal: “What! did I tell it wrong?” 

The mother busy with her cooking, her 
face turned toward Jossele, gazed at him 
fondly with that well-known smile of a mother 
that resembles weeping. Nothing was in such 
perfect keeping with her features as this very 
smile ; for a permanent expression of grief on 
her face had furrowed it as with the traces of 
tears, so that every change in her lineaments 
looked like a new approach to weeping. 

As she stood rejoicing over her child’s for- 


america 


3 


wardness, she forgot to mind her pot, which 
all of a sudden began to seethe and finally 
boiled over. That gave her a shock, and she 
vented her anger over the mishap upon the 
boy, chiding him as if he had been at fault. 

‘^What an ado he makes about eating — 
would to God he showed as much zeal at his 
learning !” 

That was not altogether just, for in the 
six years of his short life Jossele had eaten 
too little by far and learned too much. Even 
apart from that, his little life had been a 
thorny one. The most noticeable part of his 
diminutive body were two big, luminous eyes. 
The rest consisted of skin and bones, both 
showing the traces of a good many diseases. 
All the epidemics traversing the town made 
their first call upon Jossele and there took 
quarters. But he fought his way through 
them all — through typhoid, measles and scar- 
latina, and now in his sixth year he was a 
tiny but notable personality, able to read, 
well-versed in prayer and capable, of course, 
of making a good deal of noise with his spoon. 

The father took Jossele by the hand, looked 
at his face with a smile that lost itself in his 
long beard and asked: 


4 


amctica 


^^Knowest thou, Jossele, where I am going 
to?” 

^^To America,” answered the child. 

^^And where lieth America?” inquired the 
father. 

^Tar, far off” — and Jossele made a sweeping 
gesture with his tiny hand, to indicate vast 
distance. 

The father curled his locks, stroked his little 
face and poised the child’s new hat (a gift 
for the holidays) about his ears. All through 
his father’s absence Jossele remembered these 
evidences of affection. 

Suddenly the door was pushed open with 
a great deal of noise, and two little boys about 
eight years of age, looking like twins in the 
sameness of their long frocks, tumbled merrily 
into the room, but hushed up at once catching 
sight of their father. 

^^Aha, there is the ^band’, ” saluted the 
mother from behind the stove. The ^^bandits” 
took their seats at the table, in the voiceless- 
ness of good behavior. 

so early tonight?” demanded the 
father. Both replied a tempo, ^Teacher dis- 
missed us at an early hour to give us a chance 
of leavetaking.” A momentary stillness en- 


ametica 


5 


sued, broken a minute later by Jossele who 
shouted gleefully, in right of his position as 
the youngest and the assured pet of the 
family : ^^Father fares to America, father fares 
to America!^’ ^^A matter for rejoicing!’’ 
grumbled the mother and put the soup terrine 
upon th'C table. And then, turning upon her 
husband : 

^‘Meir, wash your hands, supper is served !” 

^^And won’t you wait for little Rachel?” 
cannot think whut it is that keeps her 
so long!” 

^^Most likely she can’t bring uncle to terms 
— a hardship, this, to deal with such a dun- 
derhead!” groaned Meir, plowing his beard 
with heavy strokes in token of his commisera- 
tion with the child. 

His wife stood for a moment motionless, 
soup-ladle in hand, in her surprise at these 
accents of softness in the voice of a father 
known to her as sparing of gentle words in 
his dealings with the children. 

Uncle Chaim was Meir’s younger brother. 
He had married below him — and it was a 
divorced woman whom he had taken unto 
himself. By way of compensation he was now 
the owner of several thousand roubles. For a 


6 


America 


long time Meir kept aloof from his brother. 
But when his little shop of odds and ends 
failed to keep him, and maintenance of his 
family became impracticable without fraternal 
subsidies, he had to turn, willy-nilly, to his 
^^rich” brother for help. The doles he secured 
did not go a long way. And thus it came to 
pass in the end, that Meir whose entire world 
had heretofore been confined to his townlet 
and almost exclusively to the way to the syna- 
gogue therein, resolved to emigrate to America, 
without visible means of support, like so many 
others before him, among them several of his 
relatives. To this end he appealed to his 
^^rich^’ brother to lend him the twenty-five 
roubles he lacked of the price of a steamer- 
ticket. When he failed in his appeal he sent 
his eldest, little Kachel, to the uncle, by way 
of last resort. The girl, despite her ten years, 
was of an eloquence renowned throughout the 
street and more than once had seconded her 
father successfully in similar emergencies. 
Seeing Meir come home empty-handed that 
day, she took the shawl that served her both 
as cloak and headgear and run off, vowing, 
with the solemnity of childhood, that she 


amenca 


7 


would not return home without the uncle’s 
grant of twenty-five roubles. 

In the meantime, Meir was loath to sit 
down at table; he paced the room, tugged his 
heard, jerked his head nervously to the right 
and left as if to shake off somber thoughts. 
Finally he turned to the boys : 

‘^Berel, Chaim, you must mind your mother, 
do you hear me? Obey your mother and 
study the law with all diligence, for in my 
absence, who will . . 

He was about to wind up gently, in keeping 
with his true character; because the thought 
of his far journey and of his eldest pleading 
hard at this moment with a close-fisted uncle 
for a loan of twenty-five measly roubles, con- 
siderably softened him. But when he noticed 
Berel sitting with one leg under his seat and 
the other twisted backward, he shouted an- 
grily: 

^‘Only look how that scamp is sitting — 
down with that leg, thou ” 

^^To be sure, they will mind me — of course 
they will! They’ll wreck and ruin me,” his 
wife flared up. ^‘With whom art thou leaving 
me !” she wailed. 

At this domestic turn the door opened and 


8 


america 


in came Muhme (aunt) Sheindel, wrapped in 
a big shawl. The hectic spots flaming upon 
her bony cheeks testifled to some disorder of 
her lungs. Alluding to this hectic redness 
the town had given her the surname of “Red- 
cheeks.’’ She entered with an expression on 
her face as if come to mourn a death. With- 
out bidding “good evening” to those within 
the room, she elevated her shoulders, coughed, 
and cast furtive glances all around, as if 
addressing her inquiry to the walls: 

“Hasn’t Rachel come back yet?” (The 
whole town was privy to Rachel’s mission and 
the tale of the twenty-flve roubles.) Without 
waiting for an answer she asked another ques- 
tion: “Haven’t you had your supper?” and a 
third in rapid sequence: “Wasn’t Leibush 
here?” To this last question her brother 
Meir paid better heed than to the others. 
Leibush, her husband, was his brother-in-law. 
He was habitually cross with him, though 
they prayed in the same synagogue and jour- 
neyed to the same wonder-working rabbi. 
This, because Leibush conceived of himself and 
his kin as of a patrician caste and claimed that 
his father-in-law defrauded him of part of the 
stipulated dowry due him, and of some years 


ameti'ca 


9 


of free maintenance agreed upon in the mar- 
riage-bond as well. And though this was 
ancient scandal^ — for his father-in-law had 
been dead and in his grave these eighteen 
years — he was still wont to air his grievances 
against his wife and her family. In his out- 
ward bearing he was cold of temper and short 
of speech. For all that, he was deeply moved 
by all that concerned the family, and the first 
on the spot both on joyful occasions and — 
which God forfend! — sorrowful ones. And 
therefore, as Sheindel hinted, he meant to 
come and take his leave, though at their daily 
meetings Meir and he spoke never a word to 
each other. 

It didn’t take long before the door was 
opened in haste and Rachel entered, altogether 
out of breath. Her curls below her shawl 
were in disarray, but her hand was firmly 
closed around a crumpled bill. With triumph- 
ant mien she yelled at her father : 

^^He just had to give it !” 

They all pounced upon her to feast their 
eyes upon the bill, soiled and crumpled 
though it was. The father took it inta his 
keeping, and plainly showing his relief of 
mind, stroked the girl’s head. That was some- 


10 


ametica 


thing altogether out of the common with this 
austere parent, and so surprising to little 
Bachel that she reddened all over as if asham- 
ed. Forthwith her mother took her into a 
corner and there they held a whispered con- 
fab. The Muhme shook her upper frame as 
•if bereft of reason, until the father spoke up : 

^^And the aunt, what had she to say, eh?’’ 
he began; his relaxation from inward stress 
vented itself in this: he lifted Jossele upon 
his arm and gave him a gentle spanking. The 
boy relished the pleasantry well enough, look- 
ing steadfastly into his father’s eyes as if to 
reassure himself that all was well. 

had nothing whatever to say to aunt. I 
laid for uncle at his door, where he stood 
talking to some people, and there I shouted 
my errand within everybody’s hearing. Oh! 
I wouldn’t be such a fool as to parley with 
aunt!” she concluded, exhibiting a child’s 
pride in the diplomacies of the full-grown. 

All rejoiced over her prudence, and her 
mother conferred distinction upon her by 
saying: 

^^Serve supper, Rachel!” 

The father, oblivious, for the time being, 
of his impending journey, proud of his clever 


america 


11 


offspring, and rejoicing over the twenty -five 
roubles within his grasp, ordered the boys to 
wash hands and went with them to perform 
his own ablutions. 

All seated themselves around the table. 
Muhme Sheindel was the first to recall the 
journey. It was habitual with her to speak 
by preference of sorrowful and somber sub- 
jects, of death and the deviPs wiles. The chil- 
dren were mightily afraid of her. She was 
fond of cemetery walks, and wrapped in her 
big shawl, with the red spots in her face, she 
truly reminded people of the stalking of 
malignant death. Quoth she: ^^Why, Meir, 
art thou not afraid of the big water? I un- 
derstand, from common report, that people 
falling ill upon the high seas are strapped 
upon a board and thrown into the water.^^ 

She told her tale with a queer smile hover- 
ing around her thin lips in ghostly fashion. 
Her eyes turned green and narrowed down to 
needlepoints. Having done with her terrors, 
she coughed and tittered weirdly : Hi, hi, hi. 

Through the momentary stillness that en- 
sued only the clattering of the spoons plied 
by the ^^bandits^’ was audible. 

When the Muhme came to an end with her 


12 


America 


coughing, she resumed : ^^Who knows but 
what they did the like to my David? Three 
years gone, and never a word of him!’^ 

^^Untrue!^’ retorted Hannah Lea. ^^Why, 
Enoch the tailor saw him in London ! He is 
a capmaker and fond of card games.^’ 

The Muhme smiled her ghastly smile. 

^^To forget each other is a failing common 
in your family. When a son departs from out 
of your midst, he drops out of ken — did you 
ever hear the like?’’ Hannah added. 

Again the elfin tittering of the Muhme was 
heard, and between whiles her cough, terrify- 
ing the children. 

And then it happened that Hannah Lea, 
without manifest occasion, while lifting the 
first spoonful to her mouth, broke into heart- 
rending sobs: ^^Ach, Meir, with whom art 
thou leaving me? Wither goest thou? . . . 
Still sobbing, she covered her eyes with her 
apron. 

Thereupon Kachel laid down her spoon and 
seconded her mother’s hysterics. The father 
stared into vacuity and tugged his beard. 
Only ^^the band” paid no heed. As if to the 
routine accompaniment of their tears, they 
laddled their soup with a new access of speed. 


3metica 


13 


After her success in creating gloom, the 
Muhme took to soothing: ^^Never mind, not 
all fall ill upon the ^eas, nor are all strapped 
to a board.” But Hannah Lea remained in- 
consolable. All the mischances and evil for- 
tunes of her life — and there had been not a 
few — seemed to liquefy now in tears. 

Upon this scene of little comfort the door 
opened once more and an oppressed, gloomy 
^^good evening” salute was heard. A lanky 
man of dark looks, poorly clad and on the 
shady side of forty, entered the room and 
seated himself in a corner. 

^^Art thou come, Leibush?” ‘^Yes, it is I,” 
came a grumbling response from out of the 
corner. These accents of moroseness were 
habitual with the man only in his intercourse 
with his wife and children. He was at bottom 
a kindly soul, never speaking ill of anyone 
and never raising his voice. And such as he 
was, he was throughout his life in hard luck — 
nothing prospered at his hands. He lacked 
the stamina for long sustained bargaining 
and consequently got the short end in almost 
every deal. But with his own he could not 
talk otherwise save, in grudging and morose 
accents. Though he loved them profoundly, 


u 


America 


he never had a good word for them. To talk 
gently to his wife would have seemed to him 
a sort of levity — a fall to the level of a loving 
suitor. All were not a little surprised there- 
fore when he turned to Hannah Lea with 
comfort in his voice. What did she weep for, 
then? An endless number of people cross 
daily and they all arrive in port safe and 
sound. With God^s help he too will safely 
land. Legions of people are bound the same 
road — no cause for weeping. 

To these rare advances of his brother-in- 
law, Meir, in his softened mood, responded in 
a tone* unheard of in their previous intercourse. 
He made friends, as it were, with Leibush by 
nraking light of woman’s weakness. 

‘^A woman — therefore she cries. Thou 
knowest tears are the comfort of women” — 
but bending a little over his brother-in-law, 
he added in a whisper : ^Tt’s not to be won- 
dered at, after all — ^such a far country!” 

^^To be sure, to be sure,” responded Leibush 
with a compassionate headshake. 

^Terchance he may meet our David?” ex- 
claimed the Muhme to hier husband across the 
room. 

“Our David? Whom else? the red cobbler 


amerfca 


15 


belike — who has surely come to a bad end long 
ago/’ snapped Leibush, with a change for the 
worse in his voice. 

Meir rose and pronounced the benediction 
(with Leibush piously swaying the upper part 
of his body ) . He sighed several times during 
the prescribed rite, and therein also was 
seconded and abetted by his kinsman. 

After rising from the table, Meir approached 
his brother-in-law and said with quiet solemn- 
ity as if rendering an account to him : ^^It is 
my sacred duty, I can do no otherwise. Per- 
chance the Uppermost has destined me to 
wander into exile. If this be decreed, the 
burden will be mine. If only wife and chil- 
dren (he pointed to them) have their daily 
bread. I can do no other, Leibush. I’ll turn 
a plain workingman. There is no other way. 
I could not venture upon it at home, on ac- 
count of the disgrace.” 


CHAPTER II 


<< A ND how about Jewish ways?^’ his 
brother-in-law reminded him, heaving 
a sigh of apprehension. 

^^God will help — whosoever wills to be a Jew, 
may be one, I think, in any part of the world 
— if only one firmly wills it.” ‘^Just so,” af- 
firmed Leibush. ‘‘Also, thou knowest, what 
the rabbi said?” To be sure, I have heard him 
in his stuhy God permitting.” “What more 
could we do in the matter?” 

While Meir and Leibush thus had speech to- 
gether, the two women, for years on terms the 
reverse* of friendly, drew near to each other in 
a corner and there sat in most intimate con- 
sultation. Hannah Lea mentioned a “con- 
ditional” bill of divorce given by husbands 
going on far-off journeys by land and sea, 
which someone had told her was a customary 
expedient in such cases. Her husband meant 
to give her such a bill of divorce, but Hannah 
Lea would have none of it — would not even 
16 


america 


17 


think of it. Sheindel approved of this, but told 
a story of evil portents, hinting at the need of 
precaution — inasmuch as strange things befell 
men in the New World. Strange women are 
crossing their paths, aye. . . . Hannah Lea 
•felt as if stabbed through the heart. . . . Little 
Eachel sat with the women folk and took part 
in the conversation like a grown-up. Left to 
themselves, the ^^band’’ spoke evil things of the 
^^green-eyed MuTime/’ as they called their aunt. 
They discovered in her eyes little spectres such 
as rise to the surface of the waters, and Berel, 
the younger of the two, who was well versed 
in such matters, told of all manner of wizards 
and witches hiding under the fringes of 
Muhme SheindePs head-covering, and creeping 
into her eyes. Berel pointed to the eyes of the 
Muhme, which in truth were turning green as 
she told Hannah Lea detestable details of the 
seductive arts of women in America — in this 
green sea Berel plainly saw whole legions of 
imps disporting themselves, and as they bobbed 
up and down, they recalled to BerePs mind 
the picture of a sinking ship, which made him 
tell of the vast ocean, of ships, dolphins and 
sea-monsters, as if he had beheld these won- 
ders with his own eyes. Jossele sat right next 


18 


America 


to him, his luminous eyes wide open, breath- 
lessly listening to every word and seeing mental 
pictures of all the marvels spoken of, until 
he began to sob in sheer terror of the sea, of 
his aunt, of everything. Nobody paid heed to 
his weeping, the talk went on and veered about, 
until the little fellow fell asleep on father^s 
traveling bag in a corner of the room, op- 
pressed, no doubt, by nightmares of sinking 
ships, sea-monsters, apparitions and the “green- 
ejed’Muhme.’’ A little later the ‘‘band’’ fol- 
lowed suit, lying peacefully asleep upon a 
second traveling bag, with legs sprawling all 
over the floor. 

A night of inky blackness settled over the 
town. It was pitch-dark in Meir’s room as he 
stood before the bed of his two elder boys, 
softly murmuring something into his long 
beard. Meir lighted a little wick. With closed 
eyes and searching hands he groped for the 
heads of the “bandits.” They were lying per- 
fectly still and in the faint illumination of the 
wick didn’t look at all like bandits, but rather 
like two slender twigs or like two tiny young 
calves, their heads close together, a picture of 
guileless innocence. Their father settled their 
caps that had been sliding off upon their heads 


^tnettca 


19 


and as he rested his hand upon their foreheads, 
he whispered something, without opening his 
eyes. He then turned to Jossele, who— despite 
his scholarship and mature ways — still slept 
with his mother. He looked at him broodingly, 
sighed deeply, and then — wonder of wonders! 
— pressed a kiss upon his forehead. 

He had been told that Jossele was asleep. 
But when Hannah Lea, who stood at his side, 
bent down with the wick to show him Jossele^s 
face, they became aware that the dark eyes of 
the child were wide open, staring intently into 
the surrounding gloom. Meir spoke up : 

<^Thy father, Jossele, is going on a fal? jour- 
ney.” 

Jossele kept silent, but his eyes showed that 
he was listening with all his might. 

^^There will be no one to question and to 
examine thee. Learn diligently, pray piously, 
do not stray away from home, and obey thy 
mother in all things — in thy father’s absence,” 
said Meir. 

Jossele continued to keep his peace, but 
enlightenment had come to him in the twink- 
ling of an eyelash. He understood what was 
doing now and keenly felt his impending 
orphanage. As his father bent down to give 


■20 


Smetfca 


him a parting kiss he lisped : good journey 

and fare thee well, father’’ — which was meant 
and understood to be his pledge to be mindful 
of his father’s exhortations. 

All this, was so strange and out of keeping 
with the unemotional routine of their lives, 
that Hannah Lea sobbed aloud. But Meir 
leaned again over the* child, kissed it once more 
and again whispered something with his eyes 
closed. Then, shouldering his two traveling 
bags, he departed hence, accompanied by his 
wife and little Rachel. 

When the cart began to move, Hannah Lea, 
unable to restrain herself, renewed her weep- 
ing. Mindful of Muhme Sheindel’s tales she 
called after her husband : 

^^Meir, do. not forget thy wife and children 
left behind thee!” No sooner had she made 
outcry after this fashion, she repented of her 
w’ords in shame and grief and would have 
gladly recalled them — too late. 

As Jossele raised his eyes, he saw the ^^band” 
crouching on the floor between chairs and 
benches turned upside down. ^^Today,” they 
proclaimed, ^^there won’t be- any school — father 
went to America.” 

But Jossele returned no answer. Deep down 


America 


21 


in his heart he treasured his parentis words at 
parting; every word that had issued from the 
mouth of Meir filled him with pride and his 
mind was fully made up to abide by his father’s 
commandments. 


V 


CHAPTER III 


L ike an outcast of the desert sat Meir in 
his corner on the third floor of a jerry- 
built house in Essex Street, New York City — 
a negligible item in a population of five million 
town-dwellers and of 900,000 of his brethren 
in Israel. He had joined no club, he belonged 
to no society, he denied himself to the crowds 
about him. His fellow-townsmen of Third 
Street, whose address he had carried on ship- 
board, received the newly landed and procured 
him a Jewish job,” that is to say, a berth in a 
factory closed on Sabbath days. 

It is now seven months since Meir first 
cowered in his corner at a shop- window facing 
a huge dead wall. And there he sits all day long, 
hemstitching shirts on a machine. He scarcely 
knows how he drifted into this, although he 
rides to and from his place of employment with 
mechanical regularity every work-day. One 
of his compatriots, a kinsman of his Muhme 
Malkah, had steered him somewhere safely into 
^2 


aimetica 


23 


a deep^ ^^cellar,” where he took a train, and in 
this wise he journeyed daily to the factory and 
back. He marveled not at this train thunder- 
ing through a terrifying subterranean tunnel ; 
he had seen so many things on his way to 
America and his brains were befogged through 
such a swift succession of prodigious novelties 
that the faculty of astonishment was dead 
within him. It did not rouse him out of his 
stupor when his kinsman offered him a job at 
shirt-making — a place in front of a sewing- 
machine. He, Meir, Reb Jossele’s son, whose 
name was one of note throughout his native 
town as that of a scholar, he, a disciple of the 
Gerer Rabbi and a merchant (after a fashion) 
by social caste, he was now to stitch shirts, on a 
level, say, with Sender, the ladies’ tailor, of his 
native town. But then — everything is possible 
here — that’s why it is America! After all, 
manual work is accounted no disgrace in these 
parts, which was the very reason of his coming. 
Main thing was to earn a living for wife and 
children waiting for the first rouble at home. 
Wherefore he got quickly used to his servitude 
— ^he bowed his head in submission, saying: 
this then shall be my trade ! And thus he sat 
all day long, with covered head — (the others 




amerfca 


worked bareheaded) — in the same shop with 
the seamstresses. He did not mind them; he 
worked diligently and without interruption. 
Not a word did he speak to anyone. But as he 
worked he turned a great many things over in 
his mind, recapitulating sometimes entire 
chapters of the Mishna or the Scriptures, but 
mostly thinking of his family across the water. 
What were the children doing? And Jossele? 
Jossele — he almost saw him in the flesh sitting 
in the teacher’s narrow room and translating 
the opening verses of Genesis. Ah, he has a 
subtle little head, he is quick of comprehension, 
an assiduous pupil and regular in his evening 
devotions at the House of Prayer. A good 
child, he thought, and his heart overflowed with 
yearning after his youngest. 

When at last he was enabled to mail Hannah 
Lea the first ten roubles (in American cur- 
rency only five insignificant dollars), he could 
scarcely contain himself in his joy ; in the spirit 
he sat at home with his youngest, saw the 
letter-carrier entering the room, heard his 
brother-in-law reading his letter to Hannah 
Lea — 2i virtuous woman forsooth, and one cum- 
bered with many burdens! — there she stands 
now, with Jossele at her side, tugging at her 


america 


25 


apron ; ^^Let me look at father’s letter !” . . . 

To his Judaism he adhered with all his 
heart, not departing a hair’s breadth from his 
native usage. He rose before dawn of day to 
study a chapter of the Talmud before morning- 
prayers, as was his wont since childhood. ( His 
Talmud folios, as a matter of course, he had 
brought with him across the seas. ) At first his 
room-mate, a young man, objected to this noc- 
turnal disturbance, but he got used to it in 
time, and Meir did what he could to efface 
himself: he stuck to his corner in the room 
where his bed and little locker stood, and this 
was now his entire home. In this narrow corner 
he studied, prayed, meditated, before going to 
work. In this corner he lighted the two Sab- 
bath candles on Fridays, and took leave of the 
Sabbath on the day following. Whatever hap- 
pened about and around him did not touch him 
— he willed to see nothing. Once on Friday 
night as he welcomed the Sabbath, his room- 
mate was busy with some tinkering task of his 
trade. At other times he would sit down on 
Friday evening with a friend brought to the 
room and play a game of cards. Meir never 
thought of arguing the matter with him — ^he 
knew that remonstrance would be of no avail. 


^6 


amenta 


Nor would it do to look for another room — he 
would be sure to find the same state of affairs 
elsewhere. He simply didn^t look and refused 
to see whatever befell — in Ms corner it was 
holy Sabbath. 

He did not mingle in prayerful communion 
with his fellows in any congregation. On the 
first Friday evening after his landing, his 
fellow-townsmen had brought him to the ‘^Con- 
gregation of the Men of Leshna,” which con- 
sisted of compatriots only. The conventicle 
had its headquarters in Essex Street, near 
where he lived. On his way to the House of 
Prayer he saw the street swarming with people 
as if it were the exit and not the advent of 
Sabbath. The larger thoroughfares were 
thronged with people crowding around push- 
carts and hucksters’ stalls, so as to make pas- 
sage difficult. There were Jewish factory- 
hands listening to shrill venders praising their 
goods, women, both young and old, and entire 
hordes of children playing ball or making bon- 
fires of a litter of wood and paper wastage, 
with no one to tell them that Sabbath had 
already come. To the very door of the prayer- 
room did the traffic of work-a-days pursue him, 
nay, even on the stairs leading thereto sat 


Smetica 


27 


Jewish women obtruding all manner of ped- 
dler^s ware upon the congregants coming to 
prayer. It was a hasty retreat he had to beat 
from market and pavement into the prayer- 
hall. But there, too, the Sabbath of the “Men 
of Leshna” was a poor and spiritless affair, 
such as would have been held in scorn at home 
even by the ill-reputed tailors. Meir cast a 
glance around the hall. One member dragged 
from out of a corner a prayer-desk, which he 
put into the middle of the room. Another was 
in a belated bustle with the lighting of the 
candles, though Sabbath had come long ago. 
Slowly, one by one, the members of the con- 
gregation made their arrival — most of them 
known to and remembered by Meir as erst- 
while petty mechanics from his town. Some 
of them he hadn’t seen since childhood and they 
looked to him like the weird specters peopling 
an incoherent dream of long-ago. The chair- 
man was a former clothesmender — “goat” they 
used to call him — a man with a reddish fringe 
of hair to his chin. Within Meir’s recollection, 
he had once been sent to Berditchev and dis- 
appeared. In New York, however, he was 
chairman of a congregation, a man of emin- 
ence, who shook hands with Meir, with a con- 


28 


America 


descension bordering on pity. Meir looked 
about him in the hall, seeking for someone of 
his own standing to talk to. But he saw only 
the faces of mechanics, none of liis own re- 
spectable rearing. They received him cordially 
enough and asked for news from the old home, 
until one from out of their midst stepped to 
the prayer-desk and began to recite. He who 
officiated had been at home a blacksmith of 
little esteem. 

Meir thought of the Sabbath at home. All 
shops are closed, all earthly concerns in town, 
as it were, locked up. He thought of Reb Isak, 
the cantor, of the pious, heart-gripping intona- 
tion! of his chant, and a wistful longing filled 
him suddenly for wife and child and the 
domestic Sabbath. Jossele, his goodly lad, 
stands now in his new long frock, his father^s 
last New Year’s gift (Meir in his visions of 
home, always saw Jossele in his new frock), 
devoutly intoning the liturgy, prayer-book in 
hand. In his room the table is covered with 
clean linen, the candles are burning, and 
Hannah Lea — excellent goodwife ! — has donned 
her new cap . . . and he, on remote highroads, 
removed from them by an immensity of space 
. . . but he did not permit his heartache to 


amerfca 


29 


rise within him, for it was Sabbath, and he 
joined with fervor in the jubilating Song of 
Welcome, ’spite uncongenial surroundings. 

After the service he sat down in a corner 
to read a little in the Scriptures, as had been 
his custom at home, so as not to leave the 
House of God in unseemly haste. Besides, 
what manner of home had he to hasten 
to? Even as it was, he felt the peace of Sab- 
bath within him. But no sooner had he bent 
over his book, he noticed, that the prayer-desk 
was hurriedly dragged into the corner whence 
it had emerged, and he saw a new set of people 
entering at the door — this time a crowd mani- 
festly in a hurry. And while desk and law- 
scrolls were covered in a corner with white 
linen, musicians took their stand in the middle 
of the room and around them, in groups, young 
people. Meir was beside himself with amaze- 
ment, but the man who had lit the candles 
now approached him and said, in Galician 
dialect : 

‘^Friend, you must go hence now, they are 
already bringing in the tables . . . and the 
dancing-master will presently arrive. . . 

‘What — in the sanctuary — on the Sabbath?” 
cried Meir, horrified. 


30 


America 


^^Yes — the hall is let to the ^Men of Leshna’ 
only from six till eight. At eight the dancing- 
master arrives.” 

^^What — in the sanctuary?” repeated Meir. 

^^It ceases to be a sanctuary at the stroke of 
eight — it’s now a dance-hall. . . .” 

Meir grasped his prayer-book and ran. He 
did not concern himself thereafter with con- 
gregations — he welcomed the Sabbath in his 
forlorn corner, he chanted the tunes of Keb 
Isak, longed for the Judaism of his native soil, 
for wife and children, and above all, Jossele. 


CHAPTER IV 


F or Jossele his affectionate yearning was 
boundless. He had been an undemonstra- 
tive father at home, but that did not restrain 
his transports of hot affection now that his 
children were out of his sight. Whenever the 
children were ill at home, he used to watch 
entire nights at their beds and to pawn his 
very garments to pay apothecary and phys- 
ician — all speechless and as a matter of 
paternal duty. But now, in a remote part of 
the world, an irresistible wave of family- 
affection surged up within him — especially of 
affection for little Jossele. He had an irre- 
pressible craving to talk of Jossele to some- 
one — to tell of the child’s many virtues, of 
his prodigious mental endowments, his early 
sagacity — alas ! how many sage and droll 
sayings heretofore unheeded did he remember 
now ! — and it was this craving that sometimes 
drove him into the company of his fellow- 
townsmen in Third Street. 

31 


33 


america 


The compatriots of Third Street usually 
met at the apartment of Keb Cohen’s widow, 
who lived there with her seven sons and three 
daughters. Eeb Cohen had been one of the 
most prominent citizens of the townlet. Well- 
nigh half of its denizens were somehow of his 
kindred. His father and grandfather had 
peopled the town with a numerous offspring, 
and Leshna consequently swarmed with close 
and distant relatives of the Cohens. 

After Keb Cohen’s death, the children, one 
by one, ventured forth into the wide world. 
The first to go was a younger son, a craftsman 
of parts, and he drew the entire family after 
him, until they all reunited in America — in- 
cluding Keb Cohen’s aged widow. And ever 
since the apartment of the widow Cohen had 
been the ^^address” of all bound from Leshna 
to America. In time, half the town came 
successively across the seas to the ^^Muhme.’’ 
The ^^Muhme” received frequent telegrams 
from ship-board advising her of the arrival of 
some Leshner, and forthwith a young man was 
deputed to call for the newcomer at the land- 
ing-pier and to bring him to the house of the 
^^Muhme/’ where the ^^greener” stayed for a 
few days until a job could be procured for him. 


amctica 


33 


Every Sabbath night the Leshner foregath- 
ered at the Muhme and there discussed the old 
home, and whenever there was a new arrival 
from Leshna, greetings and news were re- 
ceived and old memories of home freely aired. 

The large parlor of the Cohen’s is never 
empty. The unmarried sons live with the 
mother, and the entire family lives within 
bonds of a most cordial union. Hannah, the 
widow, knows from experience (so she says), 
what it means to take refuge with “Columbus.” 
She has gone herself — if you are to listen to 
her — through the trials of the transplanted, 
though her sons protest they don’t know what 
it is that mother lost through change of soil. 
Why, her only diversion at home was to look 
at the town-pump and here in America she 
goes to the theatre. For all that, the good 
woman was “sore on Columbus.” Whenever 
one of the sons did not bring his pay-envelope 
home intact, she dragged “Columbus” straight- 
way out of his grave. More than once she had 
threatened to go home, though she had no one 
in Leshna to turn to — her entire family had 
already gathered about her in America. More 
than once did her children find her in broad 
daylight with tearful eyes, her hands folded 


3i 


amerfca 


and a murmur upon her lips : want to go 

home.” On one occasion matters with her 
took such a critical turn that they had to buy 
a steamer-ticket for her voyage home. In the 
last minute before sailing, embracing with her 
glance the children and grandchildren to be 
left behind, she cried : ^^To whom am I journey- 
ing, with ‘Columbus’ in possession of all my 
kin.” And to the tune of “last bell, all ashore 
that’s goin’ ashore” she grabbed her bundle 
and returned to Third Street. 

Young folk came to the Muhme in flocks. 
Together with the sons of the widow Hannah 
they formed the leading element of the “Young 
Poople’s Leschner Society” and on Saturday 
evenings especially they cultivated the parlor- 
politics of their clan. The elder menfolks 
had their “Congregation,” but the women 
came to Hannah without any collective pre- 
text — they simply came to enjoy the Old 
World talk, in the foreknowledge that they 
would find there the new arrivals from home. 

One Sabbath, after “seeing out” the day of 
rest, Meir went to her rooms, casually drifting 
there in the depression of his spirits. Eight 
months had passed now since his departure 
from home, and his mode of life, without wife 


Zmttita 


35 


and children, began to be an intolerable burden 
to him. His misery fed upon the memory of 
many lonesome Sabbaths, the Passover-feast 
spent in mournful isolation, and with a heart- 
pang he thought of his children who had to 
celebrate it in a fatherless home. From the 
moment of his arrival he kept the prospect of 
permanently establishing himself in some in- 
dependent trade before his mind. Notwith- 
standing his regular remittances to Hannah 
Lea and the cost of his own subsistence, he 
managed, by a marvel of thrift, to lay aside 
a trifle each week for a future foothold in 
‘^business.” But to what end? He plainly 
perceived that he had either to go back to his 
wife and children or else have them join him. 
His slender hoard of savings would neither 
pay his way home nor their passage westward. 
Also, there was a great deal of talk among the 
factory hands about industrial crises, their 
unforeseen approach, and the distress they 
brought to the homes of workers. Many of 
his shop-mates belonged to organizations pay- 
ing insurance-moneys to the unemployed in 
times of critical depression. His kinsman of 
Third Street had urged him to join the 
^^Solidarity,” an organization founded and 


36 


amenca 


controlled by the workers themselves. He re- 
sented, however, his relatives’ implied concept 
of him as of a mechanic among mechanics. It 
was a slight upon one of the respectability 
and a scholar of parts. But he didn’t think 
of this on his way to Third Street. What if 
he were to go home? To what purpose? To 
relapse into his old-time destitution? What 
prospects had he in Leshna? If only he 
could make shift to have them join him — after 
all, he was earning money and had to provide 
for two households as it was. ( Meir reckoned 
himself as one household.) Even under this 
handicap he managed to lay something aside 
every week. Surely, if re-united with his own, 
he would make both ends meet — seeing that 
Kachel, his eldest, as he had been told, would 
be able before long to join the ranks of wage- 
earners. But how was he to raise the passage 
money? And having safely brought his family 
hither, how about the Judaism of his children 
and their religious instruction? As for the 
^^band,” he did not credit them with much; 
clearly, they were not the raw material out 
of which great scholars are fashioned. But 
Jossele ! — ^And as he thought of Jossele, a new 
wave of hot paternal pity surged up within 


america 


37 


him. He saw him in his mind’s eye, an eager 
scripture-reader on Saturday afternoons, a 
gifted beginner already knowing several 
chapters of Genesis by heart, a neglected pupil 
looking about him for some one to overhear 
his lessons. He saw the little fellow turning 
to his mother for an examination in the Scrip- 
tures and pouring out his learning in vain 
before an ignorant and helpless woman. 

Filled with such thoughts Meir arrived in 
Third Street. In the hallway of Muhme Han- 
nah’s house he stumbled over a wagon-park 
of baby-carriages warning the newcomer of a 
swarm of visiting womanhood abovestairs. 
The large parlor was crowded with men, wom- 
en, young folk, children, infants — one sat 
wherever there was sitting room ; on bedsteads, 
table-edges, even on the floor. The women 
carried their babies in arms and the children 
played hide-and-seek under the table. The air 
of the room was thick with cigarette-fumes. 
But the dominating personage sitting at the 
table was, for the time being, one Joel Watt- 
macher, a fresh arrival from Leshna. The 
entire clan, both old folks and young, pressed 
near him for the sake of recent news from 
home. 


S8 


Smettca 


^^And how fares old Chaja?’’ one of the 
crowd inquired. ^^Is she still among the liv- 
ing?” Chaja being the ^^oldest inhabitant” 
and well-known to all of them. 

^Toor soul — she died of a fall! Slipped 
and fell down the cellar stairs last New Year, 
and died of her injuries.” 

‘^Died!” All shook their heads, as if the 
death of a nonagenarian were matter of pity- 
ing wonder. “Well, anyhow, she lived to a 
green old age.” ' And m memoriam they told, 
as townfolk are wont to tell, a great many 
little traits of the dead and petty incidents of 
her life. 

“Kemember,” someone recalled, “what an 
excellent story-teller she used to be at fat- 
straining?” “And what a fine cook she was — 
the taste of her dumplings abides with me to 
this day.” Another voice from the background : 
“She baked my wedding-cake — as a skilled 
confectioner she had no peer in town !” Kecol- 
lections of the peerless one were aired until 
the desultory curiosity of the crowd turned 
once more to inquiries after the living. So 
urgently beset was Wattmacher by a multi- 
tude of inquiries and so many questions had 
they to ask, that Meir^ consumed with anxiety 


amerfca 


39 


about bis own family, had to wait a long time 
for his chance to get near him. Everyone in 
the room had questions to ask, not only about 
those next of kin, but about Mends and casual 
acquaintances as well, and there were those 
whose home-sickness manifested itself in 
anxious inquiries after certain streets and 
houses of Leshna — the very stones of their 
native town were embraced within their 
sympathies. An elderly man, hazily remem- 
bered by Meir, with a heavy gold-chain across 
his portly expanse of stomach (an ^^allright- 
nick” they called him) had something to ask 
about the date for a Jahrzeit. He wanted to 
time a projected visit to Leshna so as to reach 
home that day. He made a great ado demand- 
ing the latest news of a number of girls he 
had courted in the long-ago and left behind 
him, speaking of them in a tone as if they 
were still young girls. Wattmacher had 
noticed that they all addressed themselves to 
the ^^allright-nick” with a certain respect, 
which made him answer his questions prompt- 
ly and with great minuten'ess of detail. It 
appeared, that all the ^^young girls’’ so ten- 
derly remembered were ancient matrons by 
this time, with married children and grand- 


40 


3merica 


children. At this the ^^allright-nick^’ pulled 
faces a^ if hearing something quite irregular 
and supernatural. But presently he began to 
relate himself how these very ex-loves of his 
were sending him their grown-up sons across 
the water and how he tipped them ten-dollar- 
notes for every kiss received from their 
mothers in the auld-lang-syne. Those within 
earshot laughed aloud, but Meir, abashed, 
withdrew into a corner. To keep the merri- 
ment agoing, the ^^allright-nick” sent for beer. 
As the drink went round, a multitude of an- 
cient stories were recalled — matters of com- 
mon report in the Leshna of .several decades 
ago — names were bandied about whose bearers 
had been sleeping below the sod these many 
years — gone streets and razed houses, both 
out of ken of the present generation, rose 
from the ground in the memory of the old. 
That was the opportunity of Mosheh the 
Xossak, already known in the Leshna days as 
a wag and a jester, and somewhat of an actor 
to boot. In America he made a living as a 
barber but was understood to be in close touch 
with the stage. This Mosheh Kossak now 
planted himself broadly in the middle of the 
room, and for the delectation of the older 


amenca 


41 


Leshners, began to imitate the quacking incan- 
tations of ^Ticknick’’ the cantor, the dancing 
of Chaja Kebecka at wedding-feasts, the 
‘^cholera” fits of Lea Genendel after her super- 
abundant Sabbath-dinners, spells of illness 
ministered to by Itshel the surgeon^s appren- 
tice with his smelling bottle — items of ancient 
gossip unfamiliar to all but the oldest Lesh- 
ners in the room. 

Mosheh Kossak^s theatricals gave Meir his 
chance to approach Wattmacher and to ask 
the news of wife and child. 

Joel turned to him with a start and recog- 
nized Meir. 

^^Ah, it’s you, is it? Well, peace to you! 
Your little one — what’s his name now? — 
Jossele — why, the whole town knows his 
scholarly repute by this time! He ran after 
me at parting, entreating me to give you his 
love — to tell you that he is studying with a 
will and looking forward to the time when 
you will put his learning to the test. By the 
way: he gave me a note for you (Wattmacher 
fumbled in all his pockets), aye, he bade me 
tell you that he is now learning how to write, 
and he sends you a note all in his own hand 
(Joel found the crumpled leaf and handed it 


42 


America 


to Meir), he begged so earnestly that I 
couldn’t refuse.” 

Meir withdrew into a corner and smoothed 
the crumpled paper. It was a leaf torn from 
a writing book bearing this legend, in a child’s 
hand, on its ruled page : 

want to see my little father,” want to 
see my little father,’^ and so on in pathetic 
repetition, all the way down to the bottom line 
of the page. 

Meir looked long at the paper, reading and 
re-reading line by line. For a while he sat 
wrapt in contemplation, note in hand. At 
last, with the expression of a well-meditated 
resolve in his face, he turned to Chaja’s oldest, 
a conscious American who spoke a fluent Eng- 
lish and liked himself in the role of instructor 
to the ^^green” and inexperienced. Meir ques- 
tioned him cautiously: 

^^They say, that steamer-tickets may be had 
on the instalment plan — is this a true report?” 

^^What, do you mean to bring over your 
family?” 

don’t know,” replied Meir in an uncertain 
tone of voice. “What say you?” 


CHAPTEE V 


H annah lea wrapped herself into her 
new Sahhath-shawl, took Jossele by the 
hand, and led him to the assistant of the rabbi, 
who studied Sacred Writ with the ^‘Friends 
of Truth” every Saturday afternoon. She 
sent Jossele, book in arm, indoors, with the 
request to have the fatherless boy examined 
in his studies. To her brother-in-law, or any 
other kinsman, she would not have him go on 
such an errand, lest “her enemies rejoice over 
her misfortune.” Though the brother-in-law 
and his wife had taken amicable leave of Meir 
at parting, yet Hannah Lea included them 
among her enemies. That Jossele had to be 
examined by others, in the absence of his 
father, was to Hannah Lea a “misfortune for 
the rejoicing of the ill- wishing.” 

She didn’t know how to keep the “band” 
under restraint. Her two elder boys went to 
school or played truants as they listed, though 
strangers on the street would oftentimes ex- 


43 


44 


america 


hort them in neighborly concern for the 
fatherless. More than once they were halted 
on the street and shouted at: “Get ye gone 
to school, you little scamps!’’ For all this 
volunteer supervision on the part of neighbors 
they managed to have their own idle way, 
most of the time. The entire town knew of 
their vagrancy and pitied Hannah Lea : “Alas, 
without a father, children are bound 'to go the 
wrong road !” 

Between Hannah Lea and the “band” there 
existed a permanent state of war. She locked 
up bread and boots in the closet, but the boys 
always found a way to get at both. Hannah 
Lea, like her neighbors, gave them up for lost, 
but when they came home complaining that 
they had been chased out of father’s accus- 
tomed corner in the House of Prayer, she 
flared up and raised a cry that her poor 
orphans had been ejected — and that God would 
have pity upon them .... 

Not so with Jossele. Hannah Lea considered 
his tutelage her most sacred duty to Meir. The 
child showed great eagerness to learn; therein 
he was to be encouraged, as a matter of course, 
in every way possible. And though neighbor 
Mosheh examined him every Sabbath, she 


amctica 


45 


took him to the rabbi’s assistant for an addi- 
tional coaching and quizzing in the afternoon, 
to show the town that she knew what became 
a mother — that Meir was safe in trusting her 
with his treasure. 

But then, Jossele was a different sort alto- 
gether. Unlike his brethren, he felt his state 
of semi-orphanage as something that classed 
him with full-grown people. He had ripened 
over night — in that night when his father 
leaned over his pillow and took leave of him. 
It dawned upon him then that an important 
family-event had happened. He did not tease 
his mother with questions about father’s re- 
turn — he understood that his parent had gone 
to far-off parts because he had to. Also, that 
he had to take care of himself from this on 
unaided. And as if quite clear about his 
destiny, the little man withdrew within him- 
self. No one had to bid him go to school. He 
rose in the morning without any one to 
awaken him, and eagerly went on his way to 
school. Playmates he had none — no one ever 
saw him at play. In school he sat gravely 
listening to whatever his teacher said, with the 
singlemindedness of a true budding scholar. 
On the way home he did not romp nor did he 


46 


ametica 


engage in outdoor games with his schoolmates. 
At home he took his seat near his elders and 
listened to adult conversation with the earnest- 
ness of a compeer. Such as he was, everyone 
was pleased with him and all were full of his 
praises. 

On Friday evening he took his father’s 
prayer-book and went to the house of worship 
there to join loudly and zealously in the serv- 
ice, within everybody’s hearing. The men 
stroked his cheeks, and Jossele, flattered, was 
inwardly rejoiced, but hid his elation with a 
self-restraint beyond his years. With his 
brothers he held no communion, but when 
mother angrily denounced them for a couple of 
never-do- wells, he sat glooming in a corner as if 
worried about their future. 

He himself urged Hannah Lea every Satur- 
day afternoon to escort him to the place of 
examination. Today, facing an audience of 
men, he recites with a resonant voice the 
week’s chapter and the commentaries thereon, 
just as he was taught them, with the self-con- 
sciousness of a grown-up, as if to give his 
hearers to understand: In the absence of 
father, I have to fend for myself ! His mother 
stands at the door (to avoid the unseemliness 


amerfca 




of joining an exclusively male assemblage) 
and at the sound of his childish voice turns to 
the women who pass, with a sigh that masks 
her exultation: ^‘This is my Jossele, whom I 
have to bring hither to be examined, in the 
absence of his father.” 

^^At the end of Jossele’s turn the assistant 
caresses his cheeks. But the little man takes 
his book under his arm, quietly says: ^^Good 
Sabbath” and leaves the house with the sedate- 
ness of a major, to go home with his mother. 
The women are sitting in front of their doors, 
and Hannah Lea, making halt before each 
group, enters into conversation: ‘^Good Sab- 
bath!” ^^Same to you.” ^Whence do you 
come, Hannah Lea?” ^^From the study chap- 
ter where they examined my fatherless boy. 
His father is not present to check the progress 
of his studies, wherefore I am duty bound to 
take him to the dayan (arbiter of rites) for 
examination. . . .” With such or similar 
words Hannah Lea stops a while before each 
domestic group on her homeward progress. 
Jossele walks beside his mother, with a com- 
posed and quietly gladsome expression on his 
face. The women look after mother and child 
and smile their approval. 


48 


3metfca 


Upon arrival at their own threshold, mother 
and son sit down upon the front-bench. It is 
a Sabbath evening of gentle warmth, in keep- 
ing with the season. The townspeople are sit- 
ting within the shade of their houses. The men 
are coming from worship, the boys are romp- 
ing in the streets playing at games of catch — 
among them, to be sure, the ^^bandits.” The 
girls in their new Sabbath dresses are walking 
up and down and nodding into all the win- 
dows: “Good Sabbath!” And the sun goes 
down in golden splendor behind the wings of 
the windmill. 

Little Rachel with other girls is promen- 
ading the street. Her mother talks to Jossele, 
seriously and on the footing of an equal. 

“It is a long time since your father wrote !” 

“Perchance there has been a delay in the 
mails,” said Jossele soothingly, indicating the 
remoteness of America with a sweeping gesture 
of his little hands, so as to make his mother 
understand, that a letter may well be delayed 
in transit across such a vast distance. At the 
sight of the setting sun he turns quickly to 
Hannah Lea with a question : 

“Father is getting out of bed now, mother, 
is he not?” 


Smetfca 


49 


‘^How is this known to thee?’* 

^‘Why, mother, the sun in America is now 
rising; their day begins over yonder when the 
sun is setting with explained Jossele 
eagerly, underscoring his explanation with an 
emphatic gesture. But Hannah Lea only 
answers with a sigh and a melancholy head- 
shake : 

^‘Alas, he left me alone — left me behind . . 

‘^Does he feel any better then?” Jossele de- 
fended the absent father. ‘‘Surely he misses 
us as much as we miss him.” 

With the darkness of night came all of a 
sudden Muhme Sheindel. No one had noticed 
her approach, with her half-suppressed : “Good 
week!” The hectic red cheeks flamed under 
her shawl and her weird titter: “Hi, hi; hi! 
punctuated her coughing. 

Whenever Muhme Sheindel made one of her 
sudden appearances, Hannah Lea felt the 
heartache of an evil premonition. She knew 
that the Muhme did never come save on 
weighty errands and her flustered tittering and 
coughing seemed to portend that this time she 
had come on an errand of special importance. 

The Muhme^ after her wont, sat down in a 


50 


America 


corner and asked: ‘^Has my husband been 
here?’’ 

Hannah Lea would not give her sister-in-law 
the satisfaction of bluntly asking what was 
doing. She kept her seat, but jumped up every 
few minutes shouting some command at Rachel 
or the boy, and dropping to the floor the glass 
she was about to fill with tea for the Muhme, 
who kept on coughing in her dark corner, and 
tittering: Hi, hi, hi! 

Leibush came shortly thereafter. He never 
came with the Muhme, In their calls she 
always arrived first on the spot, with her hus- 
band trailing behind. He seated himself in 
silence, gravely stroking his beard. Hannah 
Lea, with Rachel near her, sat as if on live 
coals, but would not demean herself to ques- 
tion him. Jossele cowered motionless in his 
corner, an infant prodigy of mature sedateness. 
Even the ^^band” kept strangely quiet. Both 
boys stood lounging against the wall curiously 
eyeing uncle and aunt. As the Muhme coughed 
and tittered, the smaller of the two stuck his 
tongue out in derision, but his bigger brother 
tugged his sleeve exhortingly — even he under- 
stood that something serious was under way. 

After a few minutes of unbroken silence 


America 


51 


Leibush began, with a funereal voice and with- 
out glancing at anyone, as if addressing the 
wall: 

received a letter from Meir.^^ 

^^What does he write?” asked Hannah Lea, 
now breaking silence in her turn. 

Leibush took the letter from out of his 
breast-pocket. “He bids me* go to his family 
and to urge their speedy passage to America. 
He desires his wife and children to come to 
America.” 

Another minutes^s silence ensued — Hannah 
Lea did not know what to say. 

“Hi, hi, hi,” began the Muhme suddenly 
from her dark corner. The junior member of 
the “band” could no longer restrain himself. 
“Hoh, hoh, hoh,” he aped the Muhme, and his 
laugh rang out from the wall. All looked at 
him, but no one had a mind just then to repri- 
mand him. 

“I am to go to America?” Hannah Lea 
finally asked vacuously — ^her dazed mind was 
groping for a foothold. 

The uncle unfolded the letter. “He writes,” 
Leibush resumed in his listless voice, reading 
and commenting by turns, “he writes me he 
doesn’t know what to do. He lacks sufficient 


52 


Smettca 


money for a return voyage. Furthermore, to 
what end should he come home? He cannot 
in decency do manual work at home; as for 
making a new start in business, he lacks capi- 
tal, and there is no saying when he will lay by 
enough for a beginning. For although Amer- 
ica is reputed to be a country where money 
may be gathered up from the pavement, yet 
does it hold good, there as elsewhere: Hn the 
sweat of thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread.’ 
Nor is there any sense in living apart. For a 
year he has had to maintain two households 
and to live without wife and children. Of late 
he took counsel with a kinsman who advised 
him to provide passage for his wife and chil- 
dren to America, inasmuch as such a passage 
may be paid for on the instalment plan. And 
as regards true Jewishness, it’s there as every- 
where. With a firm will it may well be kept 
intact. Despite a great many evil lapses in 
ritual around him, he sticks to domestic tra- 
dition. To go thither with children is a true 
blessing. Little Rachel will soon be able to 
earn money, for daughters in these parts 
prosper better even than sons. There is no 
other way. How long, in keeping with Jewish 
tenets, are they to live in separation? And 


America 


53 


therefore, having no other to speak for him, he 
entreats his brother-in-law to go to his wife, 
talk matters over with her, soothe and console 
her — for the ocean, God willing, has no power 
of evil — are we not all in His hand. . 

Before Lei bush came to an end with the 
letter, Hannah Lea broke into terrible heart- 
rending sobs. She knew not whether to rejoice 
over the letter or to mourn. She only felt her 
tears welling to her eyes and she cried with 
such vehemence that no one undertook to com- 
fort her or to keep her from having her fill of 
lamentation. The boys, in awe-struck still- 
ness, looked serious. Little Rachel cried softly 
to herself. All were waiting, in meditative 
silence, for mother^s weeping spell to come to 
an end. Only the voice of the Muhme incon- 
tinently mingled with the sobbing. Her shrill 
titter became audible all of a sudden, and that 
penetrating laugh of hers was more frightful 
even than mother^s weeping : 

‘^Hi, hi, hi” — it broke again and again into 
Hannah Lea’s sobbing. ... 


CHAPTEE VI 


HE day before her departure from Leshna 



for America, Hannah Lea went to the 
cemetery, the ^^good place,” to take leave of her 
dead parents. 

Bent over her mother^s grave, Hannah Lea 
cried aloud, with a voice broken with sobbing : 

^^Woe is me, in whose keeping didst thou 
leave me? I must travel now far across the 
awesome sea — to whom shall I turn on alien 
soil, at whose grave am I to give voice to my 
heart’s grief — oh, mother, mother, how am I 
to leave thee behind me — never to see thee 
again, n’or to call at thy resting place? Mother, 
mother, into whose hands doest thou deliver 
me?” 

But under the sod of the “good place” there 
likewise lay two of her children, and Hannah 
Lea did not know how to part with them — 
they were a boy and a girl, the one older than 
Jossele, the other younger. Hannah Lea could 


54 


ametfca 


55 


not bear the thought of leaving her children 
alone and behind her, of never, never visiting 
their graves again. Her mind was in a haze 
regarding the nature of this dereliction. With 
a mother’s pathetic idiosyncrasy, she mingled 
the concept of two live children left behind 
with the thought of those unvisited in their 
lonely graves. 

How often, in times agone, had Hannah Lea 
turned her steps toward the ‘‘good place!” 
To chance questioners on the road : “Whither 
away?” she used to answer : “to my two young 
treelets !” Whenever sorrow oppressed her 
heart, she sought relief in tears at her 
mother’s grave — or, as a last resort, at her 
children’s. “Kun, run, oh children mine, 
hasten to God’s holy throne and there beseech 
Him to take pity on your mother Hannah Lea, 
the daughter of Yentah, in the tribulation of 
her heart.’” The “bandits” and Jossele, too, 
were deeply interested in their little brother 
and sister. On memorial days they would bring 
their playmates to the tiny grave-mounds and 
brag about having a brother and sister en- 
shrined there. It made them feel at the “good 
place” like owners of the soil, but Simon, their 
school-chum, was a still more important tenant. 


56 


America 


for his father and mother were lying there 
below ground. . . . 

After taking leave of her graves, Hannah 
Led lingered at the cemetery gate, exclaiming 
once again : ^^Mother dear, whither am I 
bound? And here I am leaving little Avrom 
and Hindele, my children !” And back she ran, 
prostrating herself once more upon the graves 
of the children — mounds almost obliterated 
under a rank growth of grass. Her tears had 
ceased flowing, she did not cry : ^^run, children 
and intercede for your afflicted mother !” She 
only thought of something to be left behind, 
something, not alive, but inexpressibly dear. 

Dead children ! And yet she could not tear 
herself away, though she knew that she was 
pressingly needed at home, where the entire 
baggage was waiting to be put in readiness. 
At last she rose, pulling herself together with 
an effort. ‘What am I loitering for,” she mur- 
mured, “like a woman bereft of her senses?” 

She did not leave at a brisk pace, she crept 
away from the “good place.” She had a senti- 
ment in her heart as of an unforgivable wrong 
committed. . . . 

On her way home she met the men going for 
evening-service to the House of Prayer. It was 


ametica 


57 


after the Harvest Holidays, the weather was 
cool and serene, the hour after sundown, and 
the trees were whispering. 

At her house the driver was already waiting 
for the luggage. A huge bag cumbered the 
floor in the center of the room, with a chande- 
lier protruding through a rent. The chandelier 
was still tricked out with festive blue paper- 
fringes with which it had been decorated last 
Passover. Involuntarily she was reminded of 
next Sabbath and its hidden prospects. Where 
and how would she make shift on Sabbath next 
to bless the candles? An alms-pyx was still 
hanging on the wall. Jossele was told to take 
it off and to carry it to the House of Prayer. 

Then came Tetter Wolf with his wife. The 
woman carried something under her jacket — 
some victuals for the children Ho stay them 
on the road.” Tetter Wolf ’was very kind ‘to 
Hannah Lea and spoke to her in a most friendly 
vein. Meanwhile Leibush arrived with the 
^^agent” — they had still to negotiate some de- 
tail. The room became impassable with the 
litter of a chaotic break-up. Bedsteads were 
telescoped, chairs piled up, the little bookcase 
carried out-of-doors, Rachel packed the bed- 
ding in the middle of the room. All about the 


58 


ametica 


floor were littered straw and wastage. Muhme 
Sheindel coughed and tittered, then she 
shouted something into the room — she knew 
not what — ever since that evening she lived in 
a trance. • . . 


CHAPTER VII 


HE family sat closely huddled together 



in the train, with Hannah Lea hovering 
over the children, the bundles, the baskets, 
like a hen brooding over her eggs. Thus they 
went forth into the wide world. Hannah Lea 
never let her children stir from her side — lest 
one should be kidnapped or go astray. She 
shouted at the ‘^bandits’’ without ceasing. 
Chaim was very keen to see everything worth 
seeing both within the train and without. He 
managed continually to sneak off on a tour 
of exploration, and each time the boy slid 
away from under her hands, Hannah Lea 
thought him gone and lost forever. Upon her 
fellow-travelers she looked with apprehension 
as if they harbored designs upon her own life 
and the lives of her children. She did not dare 
to speak to anyone or to ask a question, be- 
cause the ^^agent’’ had instructed her : ^‘Don’t 
enter into conversation with anyone!” at- 
though her traveling mates were people of 
her own speech and way of living. 


59 


60 


3metfca 


In this wise they rode on, all day long, until 
they arrived, before break of night, at the sta- 
tion designated on the agent’s slip of paper 
which Hannah Lea had carried in her hand 
all this time, a closely guarded treasure. 

A young man in a rubber-coat, a cap of an 
outlandish pattern on his head, traversed the 
length of the train, asking in a subdued voice : 
^^Anyone bound for the border?” That was 
the watchword taught her by the ^^agent.” She 
handed the young man the slip of paper, and 
he secretly beckoned : “follow me !” Thereupon 
she quickly took hold of bundles and baskets, 
little Kachel led Jossele by the hand, the 
“bandits” were laden with luggage, trotting 
behind the young man as if on their way to the 
shambles. From that moment on Hannah Lea 
felt herself under restraint, like a prisoner. 
With this stealthy exodus began her real 
“voyage to America.” Strangers shouted at 
her and ordered her about and she submitted 
to everything like a convict at the bidding of 
a keeper. 

The young man abruptly called out to the 
driver. All of a sudden, he shouted, in a 
rough pitch of voice : “Hide — the gendarmes !” 
In the same instant he himself disappeared 


America 


61 


as if the earth had swallowed him. For a few 
minutes Hannah Lea stood alone on the sta- 
tion-platform with her children and her bag- 
gage, in exquisite distress of mind, not know- 
ing what to do. She expected any moment to 
be taken in charge by one of the border-patrol 
and to be thrown into jail, together with her 
children. And truly, she felt like a great 
criminal, because of her intent to cross the 
border. . . . But just when she altogether 
gave herself up for lost, the young man re- 
appeared and growled out an order to the 
driver. Hannah Lea and the children hastened 
to the cart already packed with men and 
women. They were thrown into the cart like 
bundles of baggage and the team went off at 
a furious gallop. 

After a two hours^ ride the wagon turned 
into a roomy yard. A black oppressive night 
brooded over the nearby fields. Somewhere, 
close to the yard, a river ran, and the wind 
blew cool. Dogs gave mouth, outbellowing 
each other. This, Hannah Lea felt, was the 
portal to ^^the great desert to be crossed’’ be- 
fore one reached America. A door was thrown 
open, disclosing the large sleeping quarters of 
a wayside inn, where they saw, in the faint 


62 


^metica 


illumination of a little night-lamp, an entire 
horde of emigrants, the family-groups with 
their bundles resting upon the floor. 

The newcomers quickly sought and found 
accommodation. Hannah Lea found a bundle 
of hay for herself and her children to rest 
upon. She looked about her and was a good 
deal relieved in her mind to see that the people 
around her were Jews, although they spoke 
their Yiddish in a Lithuanian dialect. She 
saw them settle at their ease, get their samo- 
vars ready and distribute bread and gherkins 
among the family-members — and witnessing 
this, Hannah Lea remembered her own little 
swallows left without anything to enter their 
beaks since dawn of day. She opened a bundle 
and distributed her ^Mch’’ kinswoman’s gift 
of provender — rolls and sausages. 

The family drank tea out of a glass that 
went from hand to hand. A woman sat down 
upon a bundle, close to Hannah Lea. and 
asked : 

^‘Are you, too, bound for America?” 

But Hannah Lea had been cautioned upon 
leaving to tell no one on the road of her 
American destino^tion — to tell all inquirers 
she was going to Breslau with an ailing child. 


America 


63 


Therefore she answered the woman now as 
taught : 

^^No, I am traveling with my child to a 
physician beyond the border.’’ 

The woman bit her lips. Then she shouted 
merrily to someone in a corner: ^‘To be sure, 
Joel, they are also going to consult that 
physician in Breslau.” And a laughing 
response came forth from out of the corner: 

‘Why, of course, we are all bound for Bres- 
lau — our journey’s end is Breslau, not a 
doubt!” 

The woman continued to ply Hannah Lea 
with questions: 

“Do you have a husband over yonder?” 

Hannah Lea understood now that they were 
all in the secret, so she said: 

“Do you have your husband over yonder?” 

Her neighbor heaved a deep sigh: “Would 
to God I did not have him there the way I have 
him !” This strange reply bewildered Hannah 
Lea, who was loath to pursue the subject. She 
turned to her children in dismay. Just then 
Jossele’s head dropped wearily into her lap — 
with a crust of bread in his hand and a mum- 
bled benediction on his lips, the child fell 


64 


america 


asleep. But the stranger drew closer to 
Hannah Lea and told her tale unbidden: 

^^Eight years ago he went beyond the sea. 
I’ll have thee come to me next year, he said — 
I am still waiting. He left me, with a child 
on my hands and an infant at my breast. I 
thought him dead when I received word from 
some of our townsfolk, that he lives over there 
with another who bore him children. I am 
taking passage across now with my poor little 
doves (she pointed to her sleeping children). 
Why, I am told, they won’t let me enter port 
in America unless he calls for me on ship- 
board. There is a free country for you !” 

Hannah Lea’s heart beat furious and fast. 
Muhme Sheindel’s accounts of life in America 
flashed through her brains. Her lips began 
to tremble, and with nerveless hands she 
stroked Jossele’s little head. What if per- 
chance her Meir. . . . ? Who can tell . . . 
America ... a vast land . . . ! 

But Meir’s image soothingly arose before 
her mind’s eye and she repeated to herself: 
^^No, not Meir, not he!” — And though her 
heart would stay at rest, Hannah Lea proudly 
told the woman making inquiry after her 
husband : 


America 


65 


husband (underscoring the possessive 
pronoun) awaits my coming in America. It^s 
only a twelfthmonth he went there and we 
are already called upon to join him.’^ 

^^You are fortunate in your husband !’’ said 
the woman, nodding her head. ^^There are still 
men in this world, I see. Alas,” she sighed, 
^Vhat didn’t I do to make him keep faith 
with me ! I have been portrayed in a new hat 
and sent the picture overseas ! They told me : 
^Put on a fine head-covering, send him thy 
portrait, rouge thy cheeks, show him that thou 
art likewise a comely woman!’ I carmined 
my cheeks, I borrowed a bonnet from the 
wealthiest woman in town, I sent him my 
portrait . . . alas!” The woman groaned, 
and eyeing Hannah Lea intently, repeated: 
^‘There are still men in this world — only a 
year across and he sends for his wife and 
children !” 

Hannah Lea spat quickly to the ground to 
keep the stranger’s envy from beshrewing her 
own better fortune. She drew her nestlings 
closer to herself, recalling Chaim who had 
already made friends with other children in 
the room. He too, had to sit down close to her 


ee 


ametica 


side so as not to be ^^beshrewn’’ by the strange 
woman. 

When she had gathered her own around her, 
she asked with a certain complacency in her 
voice, pointing to the corner whence the 
woman had emerged: ^^And who are these; 
do they belong to you?’’ 

‘^They are my townsfolk — a bridal couple 
bound for America.” 

“So,” said Hannah Lea in maternal concern. 

Presently the whimpering of a child was 
heard. 

“Aha, it’s my baby already awake,” said the 
stranger. “Well, we shall be shipmates then — 
and with this she returned to her corner. 

“What are shipmates?” called Hannah Lea 
after her. 

“We are to take passage on the same steam- 
er,” replied the woman, from out of her corner. 

Meantime the entire company had fallen 
asleep and here and there sounds of snoring 
became audible. The children were lying on 
their mothers’ bundles, their fathers slept 
leaning against baskets and boxes. In the 
glimmer of the night-lamp they all looked like 
shadows, like eternal wanderers come from an 
alien world, bound for an alien world, journey- 


America 


67 


ing day and night. Their physiognomies ex- 
pressed the enigmatic gloom of everlasting 
banishment. Here sat a mother, baby in arms, 
there slept a father with his offspring in his 
lap. Their reflections and the shadows of 
bundles and blankets sprawled grotesquely 
over the walls. They looked like refugees from 
a sacked town — as if the Holy Temple had 
been burnt to ashes the* other day, as if they 
were scurrying the roads from off Jerusalem, 
with the Eoman soldiery in pursuit, before 
them the way into life-long banishment, into 
exile without end. . . . 

An old man’s voice rose from a corner. He 
recited, prayer-book in hand, in the chiaros- 
curs of the room the terrible chant: why did 
the peoples rise in enmity, why did the 
nations plot against us?” And his voice, 
senile, cracked, and Jewish withal, had the 
effect of a millenarian echo. . . . 

Two hours later some burly fellows came 
to take the entire mob of emigrants across the 
border. Only a moment before their arrival 
Hannah Lea had dropped asleep, with a box 
to the rear of her for a pillow. The young 
man in the rubber-coat made the rounds, rous- 
ing the sleepers, one by one. Heads rose erect 


63 


america 


in every corner, people everywhere struggled to 
their feet, the men, half in a stupor, took hold 
of their baggage, mothers shook their children 
into wakefulness and lifted them to their arms 
— at last they took the road in speechless 
gloom. 

Kachel took her little brother by the arm. 
Jossele, altogether weary and sleepy, didn’t 
know his bearings nor what was going on 
about him — he clung to his mother in affright. 
The ^^bandits,” too, were in drooping spirits — 
they were still, sad and in a pensive mood. 
Only Kachel walked erect among them, en- 
couraging the boys and mindful of everything. 

At first the way led along the highroad. 
The smugglers took the lead, behind them in 
a dense swarm the emigrants. The night was 
cold and clear. The moon broke through the 
clouds, dismaying the train leaders. For a 
goodly while they hesitated, deliberating over 
a postponement of the expedition. As they 
took counsel, the sky became overclouded and 
between whiles the moonlight turned faint 
and fainter. That gave the drivers new hope 
and the caravan proceeded on its way, which 
now led across meadows wet with the noc- 
turnal dew. Far off a huge and lumpy shadow 


america 


69 


came in sight. It was a forest that had to be 
crossed. Little Jossele, shivering with cold, 
could not keep the quick pace of the wander- 
ers, and Hannah Lea lagged a little behind. 
But the leaders vehemently shouted at her to 
make haste, and the frightened lad, with a 
prematurely developed instinct of Jewish sub- 
missiveness, began to run at top speed — and 
thus they reached the woods. 

It was a dense forest. The night turned 
darker, the moon withdrew behind the clouds, 
and the ^^agents” felt at ease. For the sake 
of greater security, they divided the crowd into 
several detachments winding their way 
through clusters of trees and bushes. Branches 
barred the way, every moment there was an- 
other halt in front of tanglewood, and dis- 
entanglement was difficult. In Jossele’s vision, 
spooks were gliding everywhere between the 
trees — they will presently draw near, he 
thought, in their white raiment and go to the 
water there to perform the religious rite of 
ablution — for these are the souls of the dead 
that are about to take a purifying plunge into 
the waves ere they ascend to heaven, ready for 
the Last Judgment. . . . 

Tales he had heard in school, tales he had 


70 


ametica 


read in the story-books bought on Fridays at 
Jacob’s, the bookbinder’s stall, told of wild 
woods and waste fields full of shadows and 
apparitions, infested with bandits keeping 
princes and princesses in bondage, keeping 
them enchained in abysmally deep caverns. 
There, in the woods, lies that rock barring 
the entrance to a cave leading straight to 
Paradise. Jossele felt sure that this must be 
the terror-haunted forest of his story-books — 
for was it not matter of common knowledge 
that one had to pass through a wilderness of 
woods and woeful waste lands before reaching 
America? And it seemed to him that roads 
were leading from this forest to the Holy Land 
of Israel and to all the countries on earth. 
But assuredly, where the woods came to an 
end, there dwelt the anthropophagi of his 
story-books, giants with huge beards. 

At every heart-beat he expected them to 
come. And behold — there they are — a clatter 
of galloping horses from afar, with echoes 
resounding. Who rides through the night? 
Stillness all of a sudden, steps are halted, all 
throw themselves headlong upon the ground. 
Jossele’s mother, hiding, drags him down, 
close to her body, on the ground — the entire 


America 


71 


train of emigrants, scarce daring to breathe, 
lies prostrate upon the earth, between the 
trees — no sound save the clatter of horses is 
heard — a tumult drawing nearer, retreating, 
reverberating in echoes ... at times they 
seem to draw closer, the man-eaters — they will 
presently arrive on the spot, surcingle them, 
drag them all into captivity, lock them up in 
cages, fatten them, kill and roast one of them 
every day ... a child frightens the multitude 
with its whimpering, mothers are clapping 
their hands to the mouths of sobbing infants. 
Jossele hears someone right near him recite a 
confessional with a tremulous voice, others 
whisper their prayers, with faces bent earth- 
ward, into the grass. He hears his mother^s 
whisper: ^^Lord of Abraham, deliver usT’ 
Little Eachel, too, prays softly at his side: 
‘^Great Lord in Heaven in the intonation of 
her mother blessing the Sabbath candles. It 
seems to him as if they were making ready to 
say the Prayers for the Dying — he is on the 
verge of tears. The mother whispers: ‘‘Jos- 
sele, Jossele, be still, they^ll soon pass ” 

No, he won’t weep, lest “they” hear his voice — 
he won’t betray to them his whereabouts. 
He’ll pray like the grown-up folk, like all the 


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rest: ^^Great Lord in Heaven!’’ No, not so, 
the other prayer, the longest, the one said 
when soul and body part, the prayer of all 
Jews in peril of life or in the presence of an 
apparition. 

^^Hear Israel, the Eternal One, thy God, is 
an only God.” The little lad prayed fervently 
— and who knows but what his prayer was 
hearkened to. Ere long the tumult of clatter- 
ing hoofs grew faint and fainter and presently 
died out beyond the woods. 

^Traised be the Creator I” said Hannah 
Lea, with eyes turned heavenward. “The 
Archfathers have prayed for us! . . Thus 
went the journey, all through the watches of 
the night. 

On the morrow, the emigrants, now safe be- 
yond the border, were led “to the bath.” As 
they went through the government-prescribed 
process of “disinfection,” they all felt like 
piecefs of merchandise, shipped to America, 
handled and overhauled in transit time and 
again, until they reached port. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A FEW days later the pilgrims were safe 
aboard a big steamer. The ship as yet 
lay motionless in port. The steerage-passen- 
gers were embarked on deck the day before 
sailing. Everything aboard ship was astir 
and in a bustle of commotion. There were 
passengers of all nations, but the bulk of 
them were Little Russian peasants. At first 
Hannah Lea and her children could not find 
their bearings in the turmoil and uproar 
encompassing them on every side. People 
spoke and shouted in every one of the tongues 
of Babel. Hannah Lea did the best she could, 
she drifted with the current, following where 
others led. She averted her looks from the 
waters in her terror of the deeps. Herself 
and hers she put into God^s Keeping ... all 
day long people were in search of each other. 
Baggage was trundled about, no one could 
find his belongings, all shouted in concert. 
73 


74 


America 


Hannah Lea was led below, into deep cellar- 
like quarters. She took Jossele by the hand 
and descended, trusting in God’s protection . . • 
at last a straw-mattress — one between number- 
less others — was assigned her, and there she 
cowered with her children, afraid to stir. A 
great fear of the ocean surged up in her. 

But in the compartment occupied by her 
things soon became more homelike. She heard 
people around her talk in Yiddish and forth- 
with became aware that all her room-mates 
were Jews. Her traveling abode was the 
Jewish Compartment.” 

^^Why, there she is — where have you been 
all day long?” Hannah Lea turned about and 
faced her collocutor of the frontier inn. In 
conversation, Hannah Lea accepted the 
stranger now on the confidential footing of an 
old acquaintance. 

Where have you been all day? I have 
been looking for you high and low?” And 
the two neighbors with their little folk 
snuggled close to each other, chatting like old 
cronies at a re-union. Their chumminess 
spread like an infection. Everyone within 
sight struck up an acquaintance with every- 
one else. Places of birth or domicile were 


america 


75 


made known, mutual acquaintances inquired 
after, and presently it became plain that there 
were points of contact interlinking all of 
them. In their talk, degrees and ramifications 
of kinship were searchingly sifted, until it 
became manifest that one-half at least of this 
human shipload were relations in the third 
or fourth degrees of consanguinity. 

‘^If that^s the case,’^ a merry voice was 
heard, ^Ve might as well say evening prayers!’^ 

^Why, of course!” some voices promptly 
responded. 

^^Do you mind,” someone reminded them 
from out of a corner, ^^that this is the evening 
appointed for lighting the first candle?” 

An auspicious omen this — to have boarded 
ship on the first day of Chanukah!” 

^^Is there an able cantor among us?” some- 
one asked. ^What a question ! Don’t we have 
the Keltzer cantor with us?” replied another 
steerage passenger, pointing to a young man 
with a reddish fringe of beard who stood a 
little aloof from the others. ^^How do you 
know him for the cantor of Keltz?” ^‘Let me 
alone for knowing a cantor!” He beckoned 
the young man with the reddish beard to come 
nearer. ^^Did you note his resonant bass-voice 


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ametica 


and his long thumb-nail? Besides, I have 
heard him recite ere this!’’ 

It took a little while before the local celeb- 
rity of synagogue-chant, thus stripped of his 
incognito, would own, in the presence of his 
brethren, that he really and truly was the 
cantor of Keltz. It took another while, before 
he could be persuaded to officiate at a quickly 
improvised prayer-desk. But presently his 
guttural roulades rose from behind the desk 
illumined by two candles in a little box and 
men, women and children joined in the service 
of song. 

In this wise was their evening service rend- 
ered impressive and beautiful. Then the ques- 
tion was asked : has anyone perchance Chanu- 
Tcah-csmdles? It turned out that they all were 
provided with candles, in readiness for the 
feast. Each family lit a tiny waxen candle 
affixed to a board, and the cantor once more 
took post behind the improvised prayer-desk. 
A few young voices for the choir were soon 
found. The Keltzer celebrity himself had 
brought a soprano aboard with him — his little 
son, with a voice the like of which the world 
had never heard— ‘^America will be thrown 
into convulsions” — and a Chanukah-Bong of 


America 


77 


surpassing beauty was intuned. Hannah Lea 
forgot that she was on shipboard. She felt 
as if at home, in the. House-of-Prayer, with 
nothing missing save her Meir. The melody 
rose and fell, the little soprano was indeed 
astonishing, everyone capable of giving mouth 
joined. All Jews on shipboard gathered round, 
a guard shouting something into the crowd 
was quickly silenced, and higher and higher 
rose the song. 

When the cantor had finished, a merry- faced 
little man said, rubbing his hands in glee: 

“Omelettes would be in order now, and the 
fattest of fat goose-cracklings, in honor of the 
feast.” 

“Exactly” assented a sympathetic bystander, 
“and a game of cards atop.” 

“Eight !” nodded the little man, “a game of 
cards to finish with!” 

“You’re welcome to goose-cracklings!” said 
a woman, hospitably proffering a greasy 
package. 

“My daughter’s gift — to make things more 
home-like on the road,” answered the hospit- 
able one, with an effect of explaining the 
obvious. She felt that goose-cracklings were 
an item of home-life to the homeless. 


78 


ametfca 


And thus, within a few minutes’ time, 
these erstwhile strangers, Jews from distant 
zones and scattered towns, sat at the same 
board, they and their offspring, eating from 
the same plate, treating each other to tid-bits, 
feeling like members of one* and the same 
family, united in sentiment, as if their friend- 
ship dated from time immemorial, as if they 
had known each other when the high halidom 
of the Temple stood intact, fellow-refugees of 
the first Exile and wandering now into another 
to America. . . . 

Only Jossele did not feel* well at ease. In 
vain did his mother tug his sleeve during the 
cantor’s recital. Where was Jossele’s beauti- 
ful ^^amen,” his lovely benediction once far- 
famed all over town? Forgotten, as it 
seemed, for his big, shining eyes peered 
through the port-holes into the night, upon 
the sea. There it is, the mighty waste of 
waters whereof his Scriptures said that they 
had no end, that the heavens arose from them, 
that the earth was submerged in them. Dark 
is the sea and silent, a cold and grave infinity 
forever on the fiux. A whale rises from the 
rayless depth, a powerful monster, a terror 
approaching with a frightful snort. It beats 


ametica 


79 


the ship-planks in its rage, it opens its cavern- 
ous maw to devour the vessel. The steamer 
and its human freight were both on the point 
of being engulfed, when the Lord raised his 
voice and called out: No! Whereupon the 
monster in its fury turned upon its side, with 
a mighty splash, and disappeared below the 
floods . . . 

And now the heavens are descending upon 
the sea! Behold, the sea rises heavenward, 
darkness descends upon both, all of a sudden 
tiny flames are lit up amid-seas, they seem 
suspended between water and sky, only a few 
at first, then entire rows, hundreds, thousands, 
and now they look like stars — amazing! Do 
they celebrate Chanukah on high! Has the 
ocean lit its lamps or are these the lights of 
heaven, shining through celestial window- 
panes from beyond the seas? 

Meantime the Jewish Compartment’^ hushed 
up. Some of the families sought their straw- 
mattresses and went to sleep. Many were busy 
writing to their folks a ^flast salute from ship- 
board,” in the gleaming of a moribund Chanu- 
kah candle. But Jossele did not waver from 
his mother’s side on the mattress, his big eyes 
peering through the night, gazing steadfastly 


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SLmttica 


upon the sea. A deep and heavy darkness lay 
upon the waters and nothing was heard save 
the hollow thunder of the waves beating 
against the flanks of the steamer. And Jossele 
meditated whence came the waves? From the 
dark abyss, belike, far, far beyond the lights, 
where the Leviathan lieth, a footstool of this 
earth — let him as much as stir and the entire 
world tumbles into ruin. But God said : Lie 
thou still! and the Leviathan lies motionless. 
And there, of a truth, he beheld him now in the 
darkness, the Leviathan, head, rump and tail, 
rapidly heading for the ship — a single convul- 
sive movement, and all would be hurled to the 
bottom of the sea. 

^^Mother!’’ yelled Jossele all of a sudden in 
heart-rending entreaty. Hannah Lea, with a 
terrified start, looked about her, wild-eyed and 
forlorn. “Pray, Jossele, and go to sleep,” she 
whispered, covering his head with her shawl. 


CHAPTER IX 


I T was a beautiful day. The sun irradiated 
the sea, in eagerness as it were, for a last 
display of glory unhampered by roofs and 
turrets. The waves in front of the ship, the 
backwash behind, the waters all around were 
aglow with a radiancy of deflected light, un- 
bearable to the human eye. There was holiday- 
making on board. The coast of America was 
near, invisible as yet save to the inward eye 
of the pilgrims who expected every moment 
to sight land. 

’ The sailors, on the day before, had cleaned 
the entire ship. Sea-gulls, winged messengers 
of an approaching haven, came in sight that 
day. All through the night they fluttered near, 
before and aft. In their shrill monotones 
was a fore-heralding of land. Numberless 
little vessels came in view. On the evening 
before the shout went through all the com- 
partments: ^^Clear for a landing!’^ 

The American flag on the main-mast flew 
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amenca 


proudly in the breeze. All delved into their 
trunks to greet the land in holiday attire, all 
made for the deck to salute the coast. And 
there they stood, representatives of every race 
on earth, anxious for a first glimpse of the 
great harbor, the portal of a new world. Little- 
Eussian peasants in red tunics and conical 
black caps are vacuously staring at the water 
below. Their womenkind, haggard with fear, 
press little metal-crosses, now to their mouths, 
again to their hearts, in mute supplication. 
A Polish group, resplendent in the red of their 
national garb, gather their children about 
them. A tall, broad-shouldered Italian with a 
red neckerchief, carries a mandolin in his hand. 
His voice and instrument are all he carries 
into exile of the wealth of his native country. 
A sea of varied tints is outglared by a colored 
shawl on the head of a Spanish woman. Out 
of a mass of human heads arises the Christ-like 
physiognomy, pale and bearded, of a dark- 
complexioned Polish Jew. A group of Euthe- 
nian peasants kneel in fervent devotion around 
a crucifix towering high above their heads. In 
another corner, the Polish peasantry gather 
about a church-banner, raising their voices in 
a chant more resembling a heart-rending la- 


3metica 


83 


mentation than a song. And the sun pours a 
flood of light upon the deck blending the colors 
of garments and the tints of every national 
costume on earth into a garishly translumined 
panorama. The melodies mingle, the tunes 
are wafted seaward and blend with the tumult 
of the waters into one mighty paean upon the 
Promised Land, the desired of stormily pul- 
sating hearts and longing eyes. 

Now that the ship draws near to port, 
Hannah Lea ascends from the ‘‘^cellar where 
she had lain twelve days and nights. There 
she stands, among the multicolored throng, 
her cap of state on her head, the new shawl 
around her shoulders, with Jossele on her arm, 
Eachel and the ^^bandits’^ at her side. She had 
washed Jossele’s little face until it shone with 
cleanliness, curled his side-locks and put his 
Sabbath-cap on his head so that he might find 
favor in the eyes of the Americans. With 
the same end in view she had brushed the coats 
of the ^^bandits,” shined their shoes, put little 
Eachel into her new Sabbath dress and pleated 
her hair into two pretty braids. And there 
they stand, getting nearer and nearer to the 
haven where father awaits them — he who went 
before to make them a home. 


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^metica 


Hannah Lea sings no song, she has neither 
song nor speech. Why speak? God knows her 
heart’s desire. Not to displease Meir, she 
thrusts back her hair under her head-covering, 
as beseems a Jewish matron. With a rapid 
glance at the children, she thinks: What will 
he say to them? 

All of a sudden mighty shouts ring out on 
deck and entire groups of people fall upon 
their knees, making the sign of the cross. 
Hannah Lea looked up in afright, into a lumin- 
ous haze, and out of that mirage rose the sharp 
outlines of high, quadrangled hills, unlike any- 
thing she had ever seen before. Everyone on 
shipboard stared wide-eyed now upon these 
strange, four-square hills. As the ship drew 
nearer and nearer to landing, the haze became 
thinner and transparent, revealing to their 
eyes five mountainous steel-frames in a row', 
barring view of everything in their rear. These 
W'ere the first ^^sky-scrapers’^ they had ever seen 
in their lives. 

From all sides there appeared now bright- 
colored vessels plowing the sea with incredible 
swiftness. Sirens were shrilling everywhere, 
hollow hooting and screaming signals rev- 
erberated through the fog, bewildering the 


0met{ca 


85 


immigrants. The church-choir became mute, 
the crucifix disappeared, a deep stillness fell 
upon the deck. All felt infinitely small and 
oppressed in sight of the grandeur now re- 
vealed. Only Hannah Lea had cast all fear 
behind her. She felt safe in God’s keeping, 
for there, behind the enveloping haze, the 
father of her children was waiting. 

The ship groaned, made a few spasmodic 
motions, and stood stockstill. A boat drew 
near, and two men displaying the insignia of 
American officials came on deck. Upon their 
bidding, the immigrants drew up in a row and 
passed them in single file. The two were the 
physician and the inspector of the American 
Immigration Bureau. 

All hearts began to beat in fear. All drew 
themselves up erect, tidied their garments, and 
tried to appear in the sight of the two officials 
as brisk and energetic as possible. And thus 
they passed in review, Ruthenians, Poles, Jews, 
Russians, Italians, Spaniards, the men in 
single formation, the women with their chil- 
dren. The officials scrutinized them carefully, 
hammered their chests, looked into their eyes, 
felt their msucles, as if to test the human raw 
material come hither across the sea, to serve 


86 


America 


America in their own generation and to take 
possession of the soil in the next. . . . 

When Hannah Lea’s turn came she divided 
her herd, like Archfather Jacob of old: first 
she presented little Kachel in the beauty of 
her braids — ^and Kachel, finding favor in the 
eyes of American officialdom, was passed for 
admission. Then followed the ^ffiandits.” 
They went before the examiners hand-in- 
hand, sturdily treading the deck with their 
new Sabbath boots. Their eyes and throats 
were examined, their chests and backs found 
hale — passed for admission. Hannah Lea with 
Jossele came last. The physician took Jossele 
by the hand and looked into his eyes — ^the lad 
trembled and drew close to mother’s skirts — 
he took the boy’s cap off and examined his 
head — he called the inspector to his side ! 

An apprehension of some impending evil 
clutched at Hannah Lea’s heart — ^her hands 
trembled. 

‘^It’s nothing !” she said. “A little rash from 
a past and gone attack of typhoid — nothing 
worth mentioning!” 

The inspector beckoned a third man — not a 
word was said. The man grasped Jossele’s 
hand and took him aside. 


america 


87 


The little fellow tried to take hold of 
mother’s skirts. His Jewish eyes dilated in 
anguish, his side-curls shook and trembled. 

“A little rash — left of a past attack of ty- 
phoid,” repeated Hannah Lea — in Yiddish — to 
the inspector. Nobody minded her — she was 
pushed aside — there were hundreds impatiently 
waiting to take her place. 

^^Woe is me, mother dear !” cried Hannah 
Lea. She hastened to the corner where J ossele 
stood apart, but her anxious glances made 
search for her children on the other side, 
among those favorably passed upon by the 
examiners. 

On the other side stood little Kachel, flanked 
by the ‘^bandits.” She nodded to her mother 
soothingly — her nod said : ^^You may rely upon 
me — I’ll see you through !” 


CHAPTER X 


M EIR went to the pier to take his family 
home on their arrival. 

He had been looking forward to this day, 
he had been getting ready for it ever since that 
hour when he first set foot upon American 
soil. 

When, on his ramblings through the streets, 
he noticed in the shop- windows something 
particularly attractive in low-priced garments, 
he bought it, carried it home and locked up 
his treasure against ‘^their’’ coming — a hat, a 
cloak and other children’s wear. In this man- 
ner he provided, as time went on, an entire 
wardrobe for wife and children. A dwelling 
to house them stood likewise ready — the Vetter 
had helped him with the renting — only a base- 
ment, right near to the Muhmes’ in Third 
Street — but, as he told himself, at least a roof 
of his own — and now he was on the way to 
take them off the steamer. 

He had been with them in the spirit through- 
8S 


amerita 


89 


out their entire voyage across the sea. Every 
day he went to the ticket-office to inquire 
about the bearings of the ship amid-seas. The 
office had told him the other day that the 
steamer would dock in Hoboken on the day 
following at one in the afternoon. There, he 
knew, his family would not be released in his 
care — :only cabin-passengers may land in 
Hoboken. He would have to claim his own 
on Ellis Island, later in the day. But there, 
in Hoboken, he may catch sight of his beloved 
standing on the deck, from afar. 

On the eve of their landing he went to the 
Muhme, Certain of his townsmen had prom- 
ised to accompany him to the pier. He stands 
now among an expectant crowd, peering 
through the window of a huge dock-shed, see- 
ing the mighty steamship draw to port, nearer 
and nearer. It approaches at a slow and 
heavy pace, wrapt in a fog as if the secrets of 
the infinite deep it had crossed were hovering 
around its deck. Heir’s heart was beating 
fast; his face was ashy, his hand stroked his 
beard with a tremulous and unsteady grasp. 
Presently he’ll sight them, his own left behind 
him in Leshna, and the impending reunion 
seemed to him a miracle wrought by Grace 


90 


ametica 


Abounding. He thought of Hannah Lea — his 
eye-lids trembled — a goodly housewife, he 
said, and the warmth of his rising sentiment 
abashed him. He reddened — actually blushed 
— and tried to think of something else. 

Meantime the ship serpentined its way into 
the harbor. Hundreds of people jumped to 
the big, open windows of the shed to espy their 
kin from ashore. The steamer deck was alive 
with people pressing into shore-view — hun- 
dreds — saluting with their hands, waving 
white and red kerchiefs, flourishing flags. 
There was a minute of dead stillness — only 
the heavy groaning of the ship was audible as 
it approached the landing. Then cries rang 
out, here and there, the jubilations of the flrst 
landsmen catching sight of their kin, some 
hysterical ejaculations in between — the nearer 
the ship drew, the higher the choir of voices 
rose from deck and shore, until all sounds 
fused in a passionate outburst of joyful 
acclaim. 

Meir's glances flew haggardly over hundreds 
of heads. He was blind and deaf to his sur- 
roundings — he used his elbows frenziedly to 
get close to the window. None of his family 
came within view — why? ‘^Why?^^ his lips 


ametl’ca 


91 


murmured, and a cold perspiration gathered 
on his forehead. Presently he noticed a little 
group of children crowding toward the rail- 
ing, a girl, some boys of lesser growth behind 
her — his own? His looks fasten upon them, 
his face brightens with joy, his eyes glitter, 
he extends his arms, he tries to hail them but 
his voice, as if frozen, fails him. Two keen- 
visaged eyes espy him — the eyes of Chaim. 
The boy wavers in doubt; can it be father? 
Presently he lifts both arms on high, breaking 
into a jubilant shout: father! — so shrill and 
ear-piercing in its delight that it seemed to 
resound from every spot on deck. A good 
many heads turned toward him : what ails the 
lad? But Chaim, heedless in his frenzy, his 
little sister and his ^^bandiP^ brother at his 
side, yelled lustily: IPs father, father, our 
father! until the bystanders soothed him. 

But where was the mother of his children — 
and Jossele? asked Meir, and again his eyes 
searched haggardly a sea of human faces. 

A few minutes later he knew it all. 

Meir ran up and down the streets with the 
Tetter in search of aid. All his townsmen 
knew of the heavy blow that had befallen him. 

He was directed to the editorial rooms of 


92 


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the Jewish dailies, to a number of immigrant 
aid societies. The societies sent him to their 
attorneys — none could help. At last Meir 
resolved to go to Ellis Island unaided to get 
at least in touch with his flesh and blood. 

On the Island an endless human chain un- 
wound its links in front of flve iron barriers. 
At each barrier officials stood, requiring the 
newcomers to show the prescribed minimum 
amount of cash and to exhibit sturdy limbs 
capable of doing their share in the world^s 
work. This living chain was unending, ever 
new ships came to land unloading their human 
freight, the young and the old, men and 
women of every breed and tongue under the 
heavens, in scores of multicolored costumes. 
And to this day, to this minute the endless 
chain is unwinding, turning off its human 
links, one by one through the great House-of- 
Passage on the Island. 

The faces of the men and women passing 
through this hall of muster on their way to 
the ^^golden country” are apprehensive with 
fear. Their hearts beat stormily, their hands 
tremble, their gods are invoked in multitu- 
dinous tongues — each feeling akin to those 
that pass in front, to those that walk behind. 


america 


93 


A common fear unites their souls in kinship 
as commands are shouted in a language they 
all hear for the first time in their lives. . . . 

Meir descended upon the Island. His heart 
was burning with an indignant sense of out- 
rage, and his lips shut tight. He dramatized 
inwardly a long remonstrance before ‘^Amer- 
ican evildoers.” To tear a father from his 
children — who ever heard the like? An out- 
cry rose from his inwards : verily, this exceeds 
the wickedness of Sodom! What was he ex- 
pected to do? Throw his child into the water? 

Do they mean to deport the lad? Terror 
gripped him as he thought of such a possibility. 
Out upon such a thought! Yet he could not 
help to ponder the matter, in the sheer fascina- 
tion of his horror. What — a little child to 
cross alone the sea, the awful waste of 
waters ! 

He hastened to the legal representative on 
the Island of a society in aid of Jewish im- 
migrants, with a letter someone had given him. 
“I’ll tell him everything!” he thought. “Did 
you ever hear the like? And this is America 
— free America!” At the lawyer’s office he 
speedily found out that his troubles were by 
no means a singular affliction — a parcel of 


94 


amertca 


Galician Jews stood around a large table, 
howling, vociferating : ^^Accursed be America, 
woe upon Columbus and his land A woman 
sobbed in a corner: her daughters were de- 
barred from landing. A youth was loudly 
airing his grievance about his bride awaiting 
deportation. And all in a wild chorus of ex- 
clamations adjured the attorney to plead for 
admission of their sipp. The lawyer listened 
to them unmoved by the clamor around him, 
making an entry now and then into his note- 
book. It was plain that he was used to such 
scenes. 

At last Meir succeeded in getting his atten- 
tion. He handed him the letter. The attorney 
— an even-tempered young man — gathered the 
contents at a glance while Meir trembled in 
all his limbs. He tabled the letter on top of a 
pile of similar correspondence, took off his 
eyeglasses, blinked, shrugged his shoulders, 
and said: 

can^t do anything in the matter.’’ 

^^But a child — think ! A child — a little 
child !” spluttered Meir, with chattering teeth 
as if in a fever. 

Again the young man shrugged his should- 


America 


95 


ers. ^^One might appeal to Washington/’ he 
said. 

But Meir paid no heed. must see my 
family!” he hissed between his teeth. “I 
must see them — yes — see them!” 

^^No difficulty about that !” the attorney re- 
assured him. He rose from his seat and left 
the room with the unfortunate father. 

They climbed some flights of stairs leading 
to a room where Meir had to wait. 

Presently Hannah Lea was brought into 
the room. For a second they stared at each 
other blankly, without a sign of recognition. 
Then the woman broke into a hysterical shout : 
^^Meir !” Her wild sobbing raked and tore his 
heart. 

He had been embittered against her and her 
evil fortunes. But now such an impact of 
compassion with the hapless woman shook 
and rocked him where he stood, that he 
caressed her tearstained face, stroked her dis- 
hevelled hair, smoothed her garments with a 
trembling hand, biting his lips as if in the 
clutch of tetanus. 

And behold, Hannah Lea took comfort in 
the warmth of a matrimonial affection she had 


96 


ametica 


never known before, and her heart melted in 
tears. 

“I alone am to blame, I and no other,” she 
sobbed at last amid tears. bitter lot, my 

evil star!” she wept, hiding her face behind 
her hands. 

^^How art thou to blame, oh witless one, how 
is it thy fault” said Meir, covering his eyes 
with his hands. 

For a moment both stood in forgetfulness 
of self, made one through the magnitude of 
their misfortune. It was perhaps the only 
moment of complete unification in all their 
lives. 

“And where are the children?” Meir re- 
minded himself after a while. 

“How am I to know?” grumbled Hannah 
Lea, guiltily. But upon her reply the door 
opened and the children were brought into the 
room. At sight of father and mother the 
“bandits” yelled with delight. So uproarious 
was their jubilation and so loud the weeping 
that officials came from all sides to soothe 
them. But Hannah Lea would not be com- 
forted. She sobbed aloud, beating her fore- 
head with her fists: 

“Jossele, Jossele, my poor child!” 


gimcti'ca 


97 


Meir, with a jerky motion, turned his back 
upon them all. He clattered downstairs and, 
facing the youthful lawyer, roared : 

demand that you write a letter to the 
President in person. Tell him — tell him — ” 
words failed him in his torment of soul. The 
young man raised his eyes to him and recoiled 
in terror. Meir^s face was distorted and 
ghastly white, his eyes glared, his teeth were 
buried in his lips. Not a word could he utter, 
but there was such a world of pain and white- 
hot anger in his features, that the young at- 
torney withdrew in fear from the stricken 
man and the enormity of his blight. 

Jossele meanwhile sat in a big room in the 
midst of a crowd, waiting for his mother. 
When Hannah Lea was taken from his side, he 
shed no tears nor did he seek to detain her. 
Ever since the great stroke descended upon 
him, he had kept silent, as if in atonement for 
some hidden sin. In this Jewish child the 
entire resignation of his people, its meekness 
under suffering, had a renascence. 

He felt ready to encounter blows, as if his 
parents and theirs had planned for him a 
thorny road. Still and introspective, like a 
full-grown man under an affliction, he sat 


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without his mother, like a philosopher beyond 
the reach of harm and grieving only because 
his mother was torn from him and the joy of 
his brothers in the reunion of their parents 
was marred. 

The room he sat in was known in popular 
parlance as ^^the Island of Tears’^ — a well- 
chosen designation. For in this room were de- 
tained all those condemned to return with the 
ships they came in, and those whose fate was 
uncertain, pending decision of their appeal to 
the authorities in Washington. They were 
mostly forlorn folk and miserable, lonesome, 
without friends or relatives to take them from 
the steamer, very ancient people or very 
young, whose strength was not its own war- 
rant for admission, people in need of others 
to vouch for them and finding none. And thus 
they looked like scattered seed fallen upon the 
stony wayside from a load of grain in the ship- 
ping. . . , 


CHAPTER XI 


HERE were those among them who still 



had hopes of admission. They had rela- 
tives to be written to, somewhere in the coun- 
try. They were happier, better off than the 
others to whom they promised succor : if, God 
helping, they were admitted to a landing, they 
would see the others righted, too. Especially 
solicitous on behalf of the luckless was an 
elderly woman known by the surname of 
^^Everybody’s Aunt.” This woman had a 
nephew in Chicago ^^a Man of Affairs and an 
American.” ^^Only let him come,” she con- 
soled, ^^and he will soon get everybody out of 
quod.” On the way to the great dining-room 
on shipboard (the place of chance-encounters 
with everyone afloat ) she questioned everybody 
in sight about her nephew, as if they all were 
supposed to know her kinsman, the ^^American 
and Man of Affairs.” 

‘^The others” kept still. Old Jews in search 
of children of uncertain whereabouts sat read- 


99 


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amctfca 


ing psalms, women wept, frightened children 
cowered in nooks and corners. And upon all 
was the curse of the outcast, upon all pressed 
the fear of another sea-voyage with their first 
venture just behind them — the nightmare of a 
return to Old World misery. 

^^It is all one,” wept a woman, ^det them 
drive me into the desert for aught I care — to 
whom am I to return when all are gone.” 

^^To be turned back!” yammered another, 
^^Father in Heaven! After we sold our bed- 
ding to pay for our passage.” I told you 
from the very first not to go,” growled her 
husband, interrupting his psalm-reading. ‘^Our 
boy is — God knows where !” — this in a tone as 
if the very existence of America had become 
matter of doubt to him. 

^^Bedding!” the wife resumed her plaint. 
^^Alas, he has no shelter, no place where to rest 
his head !” She pointed to her husband as if 
she herself had been well provided for. 

While the women mingled their lament, 
Jossele had found a little friend, a boy of about 
his own age. After a little shamefaced hesita- 
tion, they joined hands and withdrew to a 
corner to talk over their predicament, in the 
manner of their elders. 


america 


101 


^^Art thou to be sent back?” 

^^Yes, and thou?” 

^^Even so.” 

^'Why?” 

^^They say my eyes are bad.” 

^^And I because of a rash on my head left 
from typhoid.” Jossele took off his cap and 
bared the scar. 

^^Hast thou a father in America?” 

^^Yes — and thou?” 

am orphaned. I came to stay with an 
uncle.” 

Forthwith Jossele conceived a great regard 
for the boy — he felt himself below the rank of 
a genuine orphan. After these preliminaries 
the two little sons of Israel began, gravely and 
sedately, to discuss their joint misfortune. 

Jossele’s mother returned, still wet-eyed, 
looking upon him with pained affection. The 
boy understood the whole extent of the misery 
wrought through his ill-luck : he was at fault, 
only he . . . and he felt guilty, as if it all, 
beyond dispute, had been his own doing. 

The appeal to Washington proved unavail- 
ing. Within a few days confirmation came of 
the original decision : Jossele was to leave with 
the next steamer. 


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Tlie whole family foregathered on the Island. 
For a while all kept silent, in their common 
foreknowledge of a dread decision to be pren- 
ently made. Question was: who was to go 
with Jossele? 

Of course, the mother had to stay, to take 
care of a household established but the other 
day. 

Hannah Lea wept : won’t let the child go 
from my side — lest I lose it. Come what may, 
I go with my child ...” 

But Kachel said, in the tone of an adult: 
^^Who will mind the children, with father at 
his work? You just stay — I am going,” she 
decided, putting her shawl to rights as if for 
a mere call on her uncle. 

Meir faced little Rachel steadily and in 
silence. Hannah Lea did not cease to lament : 

^^How am I to let the two of you go alone? 
Thou, too, art only a child — bethink thee, a 
voyage across the big ocean! How am I to 
let you go?” 

^^Don’t you worry — I’ll know how to find a 
way,” insisted the girl, again fingering her 
shawl as if ready to depart this minute. 

^^My poor child,” lamented the mother, ^^my 
poor child !” She fell about her neck — ^and child 


america 


103 


and mother kissed under tears like two full- 
grown women. Meir stood near by. He didn^t 
speak — he bit his lips and tugged his beard. 

Jossele was brought upon board of the 
steamer that was to deport him. He kept 
silent as if his little heart had been petrified by 
an awful experience. His father kissed him, 
upon his head he felt his mother^s tears — ^he 
kept unbroken silence through it all. He 
looked upon himself as the only one at fault — 
well, may he then be the sole atonement ! But 
he dragged little Eachel with him ... He 
didn’t raise his eyes to his sister’s face. In his 
innermost heart he knew what it meant to 
have her leave her folks behind and to return 
with him. Speechless he sat and with his head 
drooping ever deeper earthward. 

But as he stood on the gangway of the 
steamer, throwing a last backward glance at 
his parents, the child suddenly awoke in him 
and he began to sob : 

^^Mother!” he cried, his hot tears falling 
fast, ^^mother !” It seemed out of keeping with 
the wonted manner of the eight-year-old grown 
up to man’s estate. 

The night lay black upon the sea, engulfing 
everything, veiling creation from the eyes of 


lOi 


amctica 


men. The ship struggled on through the waves 
as if tenantless, with no one visible on deck — 
like) a vessel seeking a path through the dark- 
ness without guidance. A dense fog descended 
saturating and chilling everything on board 
with its own dampness. The ocean itself was 
invisible; it lay, as if buried under the noc- 
turnal darkness; only the deep mighty breath- 
ing of the sea was audible — the waves that 
were heard, not seen, tumbling and clashing 
somewhere in the darkness without ; their 
presence, felt but not sighted, was oppressive 
like the rumoring and howling of aqueous 
specters somewhere nearby. 

In such a night no one cared to go on deck. 
In the elegant first-cabin parlor a concert was 
in full swing. Beautifully attired ladies and 
gentlemen in full dress were dancing to the 
dulcet tunes of a Vienna valse. But at a dis- 
tance of only fifteen yards from the brilliantly 
lighted drawing room, in a sombre nook, a 
little company were gathered close together, 
some cowering on the fioor, others seated on 
bags and boxes. The fag-end of a candle on 
a nearby table illumines the scene. The leav- 
ings of a meal are on the table, an empty 
tumbler, scattered domino-stones — and in the 


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105 


midst of this litter somebody is writing a letter. 
No one minds him — the attention of the entire 
company is centered elsewhere. 

A large, dark-haired man with brooding eyes 
and beetling, black eyebrows, is telling tales. 
All are listening closely. Heretofore the 
stranger had kept silent. He was the only one 
among them whose ways and manner of living 
had not been disclosed to the rest the very 
first day on board ship. The tales he told now 
sounded weird euough. He had been every- 
where on the face of the globe. Knew Africa 
as he knew his five fingers, all places ever 
entered by mortal man seemed to be known to 
him. Every little while, so he explained, he 
left his temporary biding place — exchanged it 
for another — not in search of bread which he 
claimed he could earn anywhere — but because 
of an innate craving for change that didn’t let 
him come to rest. Nothing, he said, could 
bind him to a glebe. Upon arrival in a new 
town he would look about him, procure em- 
ployment, stay a few months, half a year at 
most, then pa'ck his belongings, and* be off once 
more for parts unknown. He began his migra- 
tory life as a little child. Wealth like unto 
Eothchild’s might have been his, if only he 


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could have prevailed upon himself to stay. But 
stay in any one place he can^t — there is some- 
thing in him that keeps him on the move. Just 
now he is bound for Russia, to the little town 
of his birth, there to visit the grave of his 
parents. He had seen his father in a dream — 
therefore* he knows him to be dead. To be 
sure, he is uncertain of admission into Russia 
— having failed in due time to present himself 
for milRary service. However, at the risk of 
his life, he must visit his father’s grave — else 
he would find no rest. 

All listen to him attentively, peering into his 
eyes, as if fascinated by his wayside tales they 
sought there an image and reflection of the 
infinities he had traversed. 

^^Been in Africa?” asked a woman from out 
of her corner. 

^^Certainly,” replied the beetle-browed 
stranger promptly. 

have a son there,” said the woman. ^^Did 
you, perchance, meet him?” 

^^Moist likely — but how is that to be ascer- 
tained now?” 

^^Been in the Holy Land?” inquires an old 
man from his corner. From America, he was 
returning now to his native town to die there. 


America 


107 


“Even so/’ replied the stranger. 

“And have you seen Mother Rachel’s grave?” 

“I have seen it, to be sure, and gathered little 
stones there from the grave,” declared the 
stranger. He took from a vest pocket a little 
bag filled with the holy earth which he literally 
wore next to his heart. 

“Oh — oh!” they all marvelled. 

“Upchi my life, this is more important than 
to travel to America!” groaned the old man. 
“Wished to God my bones had had the good 
fortune to be buried there rather than to be 
packed off to America — if they must be shipped 
across the seas.” 

“I always wear this upon my heart. One 
does not know one’s final resting place — it may 
even be somev^here among non- Jews. But if 
this (he pointed *to the little bag) be laid upon 
my brow, it will be like resting upon Holy Soil. 

“That’s so!” groaned the old man going 
home to die. “Would I had this rather than 
to have been in America ! Twelve years I have 
been residing in America with my son, golden 
rings, a gold-knobbed cane he gave me, and 
with these (he pointed to the rings) I am to 
be buried ndw.” 

“Perhaps, if you entreat him fair, he will 


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America 


give you a little of the holy earth,” said an old 
woman sitting at his side — his wife. 

^^Such things are not so easily come by,” a 
woman neighbor reminded her. “What — ask 
for a gift that which is more precious than gold 
and diamonds*?” 

“For all that, it cost no money. Whosoever 
will, may gather it from the soil.” 

“Yes — after having been on it !” 

But the stranger, it seemed, was so affected 
by the old man’s words, that he poured some 
of the precious earth from- out of the bag into 
his hand. The old man put it up with the 
utmost care, in his kerchief, and looked at the 
stranger with such a transport of gratitude 
that the tears came into the giver’s eyes. 

“Perhaps my father was like you,” he said. 
“I have myt seen my father — whenever I see 
an old Jew, methinks I see him.” 

“As for me, I would not willingly lose my 
native land, be it what it may, it is my native 
land.” 

All eyes turned in the direction of the 
speaker. Who was he that would not lose his 
“native land”? A young man, it appeared. 
Presently he added, with somewhat of a demon- 
strative air : “I know they will make me serve 


amctica 


109 


a term with the colors — and yet, I go back to 
Eussia. I do not want to lose my native land.” 

^What, ^native landM I don’t know even 
whether they’ll admit me into my native land !” 


CHAPTER XII 


B ut why shouldn’t they admit you?” 

^^I gave my passport to someone else — 
and now America turns me back !” 

^^How can they refuse admission to you, a 
Russian?” 

^^There is nothing they may not do — in 
Russia.” 

At these words something stirred in a cor- 
ner. A twelve-year-old girl timidly approach- 
ed the company. Her black eyes scrutinized 
the faces of the by-standers in anxious appre- 
hension. Presently she turned to a woman 
standing close to her. 

“What wouldst thou have?” asked the 
woman. 

“They have returned my little brother. I 
am going with him. Why does this man say 
that people are barred from re-admission into 
Russia?” 

“Hast thou a passport?” demanded the 
woman. 


110 


america 


111 


passport?” Eachel stammered; but she 
collected herself in a moment. “What need 
is there of a passport if they won^t admit him 
in America?” She pointed to little Jossele, 
who, wrapped in Rachel’s cloak, slumbered in 
a corner, where he coAvered like a little bundle 
of misfortune. 

Her shipmates mustered her in silence. They 
had noticed the girl from the day of embark- 
ation, but Rachel — true to her teaching — had 
kept so far aloof from her fellow- travelers, 
fearing to speak to anyone, that none of them 
had perceived the lonely distress of the chil- 
dren. They were understood to be in the 
care of their mother. Now it was made 
known that they traveled alone. 

“And why didn’t they admit him?” 

“Because of a rash on his head — a scar left 
by typhoid,” said Rachel, pointing with her 
finger to the sleeping Jossele, with an effect 
of maternal solicitude. 

“What, didn’t they admit ye? Just listen 
to this — not admit them ! Out upon America 
— such an unfortunate youngster!” said a 
woman. She fetched a candle and bent over 
the sleeping lad. “What a pretty child — and 
where is your mother?” 


112 


3merfia 


^^Mother had to stay to take care of the 
other children — that^s why I am taking him 
back myself.” 

^What — art thou going back with him? . . . 
Why dost thou stand? Give her a stool to sit 
down, someone ! There now, come hither, 
child, and sit thee down,” said another woman, 
rising from her chair. ^^Sit down — thou art 
surely weary-legged.” 

^^There — take this!” said another, offering 
a piece of ginger-bread. ^^Ah, the unfortunate 
mother — I feel for her!” groaned the giver of 
gifts, wiping her eyes in vicarious distress for 
Hannah Lea. ^^Assuredly,” another woman 
gave voice, ^^she cannot sleep at nights, this 
hapless mother. . . . Samuel, I say — Samuel, 
fetch an orange, will you? The girl looks 
faint.^ 

^^Keep still !” admonished yet another, ^^lest 
ye awaken the lad.” And saying so, she cov- 
ered him with her big shawl. ^Toor fellow — 
chilled to the bone, I daresay, in this frosty 
air.” They all were full of compassion. All 
Jewish hearts on shipboard felt of kin with 
the children — all felt that they had to stand 
them in their parents^ stead. 

Kachel knew not where to turn first, so 


Smetica 


113 


many gifts came pouring in upon her. Every 
Jewish woman within sight drew near to be- 
mother the children. Whatever they had of 
dainties in their boxes they put into RachePs 
lap — oranges, cakes, chocolate — a whole as- 
sortment of tidbits. One woman offered her 
a comfortable resting place for the night, an- 
other wrapped her shawl around her body. A 
man bent over Rachel and whispered into her 
ear: 

^^Did your father supply you with money for 
the journey?” 

^^Of course,” replied Rachel, and pointed 
to a little bag she wore on a string around her 
neck. ^^This is but a trifle,” said the man, 
without counting the contents of the bag. 
“Samuel!” he called into a corner, “quick, 
give me a few shillings!” They all drew to- 
gether, and a collection was made for the chil- 
dren. 

When Jossele awoke, he felt himself trans- 
lated into a new world. They all made much 
of him, petted him, tried to make him comfort- 
able. At first the lad didn^t understand — he 
looked at little Rachel, half frightened and 
half in amazement. His scarred head became 
an object of pitying interest. “A rash !” said 


114 


amettca 


one of his new mothers-in-charge, examining 
it closely, ^Vhy, it’s a mere nothing to make 
snch an ado about! Eub the child’s head 
with a handful of spirits and the rash will be 
gone in a twinkling. And for the sake of such 
a trifle to tear a child from his mother’s lap ! 
Savages they are — to deal so hardly with a 
Jewish child!” 

know a physician in Berlin,” said an- 
other, ^^if only he wants to, he will do away 
with that rash in the turn of a hand.” 

^^If he wants to !” exclaimed a man. ^‘Why, 
he’ll be paid for doing it.” 

^^To be sure !” others assented. ^^Why 
shouldn’t he, if paid for doing it?” 

^^He is a man of great renown — a professor. 
He treats even crowned heads. A new York 
physician gave me his address — he is to treat 
me against the stone. I am suffering from 
gall-stones,” said the woman. ^^Let’s see his 
address!” demanded the man. The sufferer 
^ffrom stone” Ashed a slip of paper from out 
of her handbag. 

^^Good. I’ll go with the children to Berlin, 
and there we’ll see if the professor won’t heal 
the lad’s head — for our money.” He put the 
slip of paper into his pocket. 


America 


115 


A few days later the great physician exam- 
ined Jossele^s head and prescribed a salve. 
The man with the slip of paper did not dis- 
miss his little charges from his care. The 
names of his children were inscribed on his 
passport and that gave him a chance to smug- 
gle Hannah Lea’s offspring across the border 
as his own flesh and blood. Long before they 
reached the frontier, he began to coach them 
in their assumed roles. 

^^What is thy name?” he would suddenly 
turn upon Jossele. To which the lad made 
instant answer, every time: 

^^Samuel Goldman.” 

^^Correct — thou wilt not forget?” 

^^Not I — Samuel Goldman.” 

^^Good!” said his protector, well pleased. 
^^And thou — what art thou called?” 

^^Anna Goldman.” 

^Tine !” the man praised her, ^^you are both 
smart children!” 

Nor did Jossele forget his new name at the 
crucial moment of crossing. Before the in- 
quisition at the frontier he pointed to the 
stranger, claiming him expertly for a parent. 
It was the only time in Jossele’s life when he 


116 


amcdca 


disowned Ms father— his conscience left him 
untroubled when necessity prompted. 

Once safe across the frontier, at the part- 
ing of the roads, they took leave of their kindly 
protector and of a party of women who trav- 
eled in his direction. Benedictions were pro- 
nounced and once more, as on shipboard, the 
children were showered with gifts. 

When the coach brought them into their 
native town to Muhme Sheindel, Jossele’s 
heart beat thick and fast. On beholding them, 
the Muhme gave no signs of wonderment. Her 
cheeks were as hectic as ever, and a smile hov- 
ered around her bluish lips. 

^^Hi — hi — hi!’’ she tittered. knew it 
would turn out that way.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


S soon as the newcomers began to find 



^ ^ their bearings on American soil — in the 
turning of a hand as it were — they were trans- 
formed into new human beings. Meir walked 
like a stranger in the midst of his own folk. 
Ever since the children began to go to school, 
their transformation went on, at a rapid pace, 
under his own astonished eyes. He could not 
keep count of these swift changes, but with 
every successive day he felt more and more 
that these were not his children — that they 
were strangers — that they actually began to 
overawe him. 

He, Meir, the Talmud scholar, a man of 
worship in his own native town, was now put 
to shame by his own children just out of 
chedar. Fresh from the steamer and scarcely 
put to school, they began to speak English 
and to join in all kinds of sports with such a 
fervent zest and gusto as if they had been 
American natives instead of being born and 


117 


118 


ametica 


reared in the little Polish town of Leshna. 
They read the sporting sheets, they took a 
glowing partisan interest in the football- 
matches between Varsities and townships, 
they looked upon their father as a ^^green- 
horn,’’ a stranger to English speech and to 
American ways. 

No stronger solvent of assimilation exists 
than the American public school. With every 
hour the children passed in school, they trav- 
eled farther and farther from Meir’s ways of 
living and thinking. There awoke in them 
that independence which seems to be the birth- 
right of the American boy. As soon as they 
picked up a little English, they began to pick 
up a little-self-earned money as well. Come 
home from school, they went to the newspaper 
offices to traffic in papers, or else they would 
run errands and turn their hands to all kinds 
of odd jobs. And scarcely had they brought 
home to mother the first few pennies of their 
own thrift, they felt independent and re- 
sponsible to no one in their personal concerns. 
In these children of a petty Polish townlet, 
smarting but yesterday under their father’s 
autocratic rule, there awoke with elementary 
force, in an American setting, a yearning for 


ametfca 


119 


unshackled liberty. And in defense of this 
their newly-acquired liberty, they began to 
use their fists, like boys to the manner born. 
Their father^s word was of little authority 
now with them — they said their prayers at 
their pleasure, came and went whenever they 
listed and concerned themselves very little 
about the law and ordinance of Jewish ritual. 
Meir was forthwith made to understand that 
America wasn’t Leshna and that hereabouts 
his authority was at an end. When he chided 
them in Yiddish, the boys retorted in Eng- 
lish : ^^Mind your own business !” 

As for Hannah Lea, she cursed the bones of 
Columbus, though she hadn’t the slightest ink- 
ling who Columbus was. She had listened to 
other Jewish housewives with a grievance 
against America, and as they heaped maledic- 
tions upon Columbus, so did she : “Alas, why 
did my husband bring me to America, to 
Columbus — may he find no rest in his grave !” 

Not only the “bandits,” but even little 
Kachel underwent a transformation after her 
return to America. (She came back with 
Yudel the tailor, after placing Jossele with 
Muhme Sheindel.) Kachel now went to the 
factory where she learned from her friends 


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to wear trimmed hats and to go to the theater. 
(Once she went the length of taking her 
mother with her, for a treat.) . . . 

There, then, sat Hannah Lea and Meir with 
their hearts yearning for Jossele across the 
seas; their only one, they called him in their 
transports of longing. 

Meantime, Jossele grew to be a big boy. 
Some two years had passed since he had gone 
out of his parents^ sight. Some months agone 
he had begun with the study of the Talmud, 
and now he sat among the more advanced 
pupils, a scholar among scholars. 

Neither Meir nor Hannah Lea rejoiced now 
in his recitals. Every Saturday afternoon his 
uncle examined him in the presence of Aunt 
Sheindel. And the Muhme tittered so weirdly 
during his feats of scholarship that it was im- 
possible to say whether she grieved or rejoiced 
over them. Her face became more sallow- 
hued, her cheeks more hectic, her eyes greener 
with every passing day. All day long she sat 
in a corner sewing her winding sheets. ^‘One 
must be prepared for the day of death,’^ she 
said. ^^Everyone ought to make ready.” She 
joined a burial society and whenever anyone 
in town died, she did service at the deathbed. 


ametica 


121 


And thus Jossele knew of all the departed 
and their passing — what agonies they went 
through, what spasms gripped them, whether 
their faces were distorted or peaceful. And 
this was not all — he knew whose turn it was 
next. For the Muhme sat through entire win- 
ter-nights reckoning up the tales of mortality 
and tho chances of those at death^s door. Truly, 
when Jossele saw her walking the streets she 
seemed to him the Angel of Death closing in 
upon people unawares. . . . The uncle sat for 
day^ in utter silence. Not a word issued forth 
from his mouth, unless urgent necessity 
prompted — as if he were living in another 
world, descending to this only at meal- 
times. . . . 

Great was the longing of father and son for 
each other. The ocean parted them — but 
there was an unbroken interchange of letters. 
Jossele made announcement to father of every 
new Talmud chapter he commenced and of 
every item of Bible Commentary he studied. 
Meir, on his part, advised him of all that hap- 
pened beyond the water. 

In his letters, Meir aired his grievance 
about his children. They only caused him 
heart-ache. They had ceased to be Jews, he 


122 


ametica 


wrote to Jossele. In the morning they rise, 
gulp their breakfast and skip their prayers. 
All day long they stay in schools where only 
profane and secular subjects are taught them. 
They walk under the free heavens without a 
head-covering. They only speak a heathen 
tongue, having forgotten all Jewish speech. 
They pay no heed to the words of father and 
mother, for it is customary in America to hold 
one’s parents in slight esteem. Even Kachel 
has changed for the worse — she wears now 
strange headgear and goes to the theater and 
the circus. Jossele was greatly put out about 
all this. What — not to mind father and 
mother? To omit one’s morning prayers? To 
eat without saying grace? And in his con- 
sternation he wrote long letters to his brothers 
— letters scarcely read and never taken to 
heart — wherein he exhorted them to honor 
father and mother, illumining his text with 
ancient saws in praise of dutiful children. 


CHAPTER XIV 


W ITH each month of their American 
growth the children grew farther es- 
tranged from Meir, whose helplessness could 
do nothing to keep them from drifting away 
from him. Their father’s piety and ways of 
living became to them a matter of jest. They 
flatly refused to go with father to Sabbath 
service. Instead, they ran off, on Sabbath of 
all days, to football matches — to ^^the chase,” 
as Hannah Lea called the game. In 'the even- 
ing, they usually came home, hatless, with 
faces scratched and torn clothing. There was 
no one now of sufificien't authority to call them 
to order. Before Meir’s eyes, they broke the 
laws of Judaism every day, times out of num- 
ber, with no one to hinder or gainsay. Worse 
than this : they held their father in disrespect, 
put him down for a ^^crank,” a ^^dope,” a 
^^greenhorn,” spoke irreverently of his study 
of Sacred Writ, his scholarship, his Judaism. 
All this while he received from Jossele letters 
123 


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3merica 


overflowing with love of Judaism and Jewish 
learning. Jossele, it seemed, was his only true- 
born Jewish child and he longed for the lad 
with all his soul — longed for his sight, for 
speech with him who would still own him for 
a father. He would be a dutiful son to him, 
submit to his teaching, go with him to the 
House of Prayer. And thus he wrote urgent 
entreaties to Leibush, his brother-in-law, ad- 
juring him, in the name of God, to speed the 

boy^s return to America, after his recovery. 

* * * 

Shortly before the festival of Purim, the 
snow began to melt in the streets of Leshna. 
That was the time when Jossele’s yearning for 
a sight of his parents reached its height. Oh, 
for a day, a single evening with them, a mere 
peep through the keyhole to see what father 
and mother are doing ! In the evening, when 
his schoolmates joyfully scampered home, Jos- 
sele thought of his absent parents with a 
groan: ^^God in Heaven! How long am I to 
live in exile!” [Separated from his parents, 
he looked upon himself as one living ^^in ban- 
ishment.”] His heart found relief in prayers 
and tears. Suddenly, God aiding, he had an 
intuition. With his little hoard of savings 


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from father’s remittances of pocket-money he 
went early the next morning to Samuel, the 
surgeon’s apprentice, and bared the scar on 
his head that stood between him and America. 

Samuel put a salve on the rash — and behold 
God’s wonder-working power ! What the great 
‘Professor” in Berlin couldn’t achieve with 
his treatment, the salve of Samuel effected 
without trouble — the rash disappeared like a 
blotch that is wiped away. Wonder of God! 
It was not for nothing that the sun had been 
blazing away in a cloudless sky as if in mid- 
summer. This alone, said Samuel, the sur- 
geon’s apprentice, was a sure token of Divine 
intercession, inasmuch as the salve could cure 
only at a season of sunshine. As for Jossele, 
he never dreamt of doubting that a miracle had 
been vouchsafed from on High, in response to 
his humble supplications. 

With his little head now freed from all 
blemish, he wrote to his father and his father 
wrote once more to Leibush, entreating him 
to do God’s holy will as clearly betokened by 
this cure, and to make all haste in dispatching 
the lad to his parents. It so befell, just at this 
time, that Yudel, the tailor, had called his 
family to America, and Leibush managed to 


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have Jossele travel with them. On the last day 
of his stay in Leshna, his teacher argued with 
him a particularly intricate point of Talmudic 
exegesis, true to the precept that required two 
scholars in the hour of parting to discuss a 
matter of learning. 

To Jossele, an experienced traveler now, his 
third passage across the ocean was a matter of 
little account. Neither the waters below nor 
the gentlemen of the Immigration Commission 
on board had any terrors for him in his new- 
born conviction that Heaven had decreed his 
reunion with his parents at the end of his voy- 
age. He lifted his cap quietly, showed a little 
scholar’s skull now free from disfigurement, 
and the gentlemen let him pass. Within the 
hour, surrounded on deck by his admiring 
townsmen, he told the story of his miraculous 
cure to father and mother, to his brothers and 
little Rachel, to all who had come to the harbor 
to see him safely home. And the rejoicing of 
his parents was exceeding all measure. 

At first Jossele could hardly recognize his 
own brothers. During a brief term of separa- 
tion they had changed past recognition almost 
— they frightened him. These ruddy-cheeked 
boys looking like yokels — ^were these his 


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brothers Berel and Chaim? All day long they 
walked about with uncovered heads, wore short 
coats and spoke a language Jossele didn’t un- 
derstand. They didn’t hold their father in 
awe, ate without saying grace and without 
ritual hand-washing. And Eachel, too— 
Eachel was attired like a grand lady, and 
seldom at home. Her mother suffered it with- 
out protest — ^she had nothing to say to Chaim’s 
and Berel’s graceless ways. On Sabbath day 
the boys went a-sporting — they went the 
length of kindling bonfires on the day of rest. 
Nay more: even father was affected by the 
change. He wore a short coat, stayed from 
home all day long, and at the family-board he 
read a newspaper in the evening. Truly, a 
world turned upside down! Two weeks had 
passed since Jossele’s landing, but no one saw 
fit to bring him to Chedar. On the contrary, 
he was to go to public school, his parents said, 
where Chaim and Berel had received their 
schooling. There he would have to sit, with 
uncovered head, to learn whatever it was that 
his brothers had been learning before him. 
Pending this, he stayed at home with mother — 
he was afraid to roam the streets with his 
brothers, and never listened to their urgent 


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solicitations. The uproar of the streets pene- 
trated to Hannah Lea^s narrow room and 
frightened him out of his wits. 

And thus he stayed within doors, incap- 
able of finding his bearings. Everything car- 
ried to him the chill of strangeness: the room, 
his brothers, his very mother dressed in out- 
landish garments. The boy was dazed and 
puzzled by the topsy-turvydom all around him. 
Once he took a Talmud folio from the book- 
shelves and recapitulated the last chapter he 
had studied in familiar surroundings. His 
mother watched him out of the corner of her 
tear-dimmed eye. But presently his brothers 
took the room by storm, jeered at him, tore him 
from his Talmud ! A wave of confused noises 
flooded the room through the open door and 
the windows: carts and wagons creaked and 
rumbled — ^human voices were raised in angry 
dispute, a barrel-organ began to play — ^how, 
then, could a little boy center his mind upon 
the sacred texts? On the street children began 
to gather around the barrel-organ — ^they were 
dancing. Others played ball or jumped a 
skipping-rope, and all were merry and noisy. 
His brothers tease him to join the games, they 
hustle him and and drag him out of the room, 


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but in his fear of strange children and their 
ways he tears himself away from the noisy pair 
and creeps into a corner. Hannah Lea herself 
takes him by the hand — she leads him down- 
stairs, importunes him to join the children in 
their play : ^^go, Jossele, go and join the game !’ ^ 
But Jossele, shy and bewildered, sticks close 
to his mother^s skirts — he returns to the room 
and to his Talmud. 

At times a tearful nostalgia, a hankering 
after ^^home,” took hold of the little fellow — 
though he knew, of course, that there was no 
^^home’’ for him any more in Leshna. But 
there was no home for him on this side of the 
water either — the ^^home” he had in his mind^s 
eye was a place that had passed beyond recall 
— a snuggery where his father would study 
Talmud of an evening, where Jossele, sitting 
near him, would peacefully fall a-dozing over 
his parent’s droning recitation, where mother 
used to wash and dress him and then to light 
candles as white as the Sabbath-peace to 
come. . . . 

At fitful intervals, a semblance of such a 
home re-appeared, when father would stay at 
home in the evening, studying together a chap- 
ter of the Talmud. When father and son re- 


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cited the texts in the age-old traditional sing- 
song, Jossele felt as if in the home of olden 
times. In such moments, both father and son 
saw a yision of their home rebuilt — they were 
drawn to each other, heart and soul, studying 
the wisdom of their race at night, in this big 
and terrifying alien city of New York. 

The time came when Jossele, in compliance 
with the law, had to be sent to public school. 
Keluctantly and with many misgivings, his 
mother went with him, with Berel to show the 
way. 

They stood in front of a huge building. Its 
vastness was in itself enough to chill and 
terrify little Jossele. But when he saw Berel 
speaking to everybody he met within, undaunt- 
ed and unabashed as if at home, his drooping 
spirits picked up a little. Berel took them to 
the office, where Jossele was duly entered upon 
the records as a new pupil. (A hard time his 
mother had of it persuading him to doff his 
little hat — and when at last he did it, he 
covered his head with both hands. ) He looked 
in wonderment at Berel, who spoke without 
fear to the registry clerk in the gentleman’s 
own tongue. Berel took his brother boldly by 
the hand and led him off to the class-room. 


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131 


but Jossele balked and trembled at tbe thresh- 
old in an agony of fear. ^^Come with me, 
mother V’ he prayed. 

^^Go, my child, and have no fear! Thou 
seest thy brother Berel at thy side, unhurt and 
at home in this place.” 

When he was finally persuaded to enter the 
class-room, he stood rooted to the fioor in his 
astonishment. Never before had he seen a 
room so big and lofty — why, it was bigger than 
a synagogue! And such a multitude of chil- 
dren seated on chairs! He was led to a seat 
and took it, mooning. A dense gathering of 
ladies and gentlemen stood on the platform. 
An organ played, fiuting and thundering by 
turns, with a voice so sweet and powerful as 
to bring tears to little Jossele’s eyes. Since 
the destruction of the Holy Temple, the con- 
solation of such music was not for Jewish ears. 
And Jossele, mindful of the Holy Temple, felt 
guilty in sitting there, bareheaded, an eager 
listener to prohibited strains. The children 
sang a song to the accompaniment of the organ, 
in a tongue he did not understand. 

Both song and music ceased, and the chil- 
dren noisily dispersed. Jossele stood aghast 
when he saw Berel approaching one of the 


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ladies and freely speaking to her, jesting and 
laughing without a trace of fear. The lady 
took Jossele by the hand, with a friendly smile 
on her face, uttering words of welcome whereof 
he understood the drift and purport, if not the 
words, by their sweet and pleasant intonation. 
Abashed beyond measure, the boy bowed his 
head and closed his eyes. But the lady lifted 
his chin, smiled at him another loving welcome, 
and stroked his little head. He blushed a fiery 
red — never before in his life had he been 
caressed by any women save his mother only. 
His bewildered eyes made roving search for 
Berel, but Berel had disappeared. 

^^Miss Isabel,’’ the teacher that had taken 
him in hand, was herself the daughter of 
Eussian- Jewish parents. She could not re- 
member the home of her early childhood, but 
her native sentiment took the form of an ex- 
quisitely tender concern in little immigrant 
children freshly arrived from Eussia. Out of 
their fears and timidities she reconstructed 
life in the Eussian Ghetto in all its bitterness. 
Her heart went out in pity to these shy little 
folks. Herself an immigrant child, she tried 
her hardest to put the little newcomers at ease. 
Jossele had made an instant conquest of her. 


3metfcs 


133 


His scared eyes, his bowed head and trembling 
little body were to her a perfect symbol of the 
greyness, the forlorness of Eussian- Jewish 
childhood. Of this forlorness every new pupil 
that came to her from her old home, brought 
a message more or less distinct. 

All of a sudden she spoke to him in Yiddish : 
^^Have no fear!’^ The lad looked up to her in 
his surprise, saw her heart in her eyes, and 
became her worshipper forevermore. But his 
quickly-won affection had no words just then 
— he went silently through his first day in 
school. 

# ♦ ♦ 

On reaching home, Jossele crouched in a 
corner. He neither ate nor spoke, nor did he 
shed any tears. He sat in his corner, pensive 
and motionless, wrapped up within himself. 
The sun shone brightly and the merry noise of 
children rose from the pavement. An organ- 
grinder presently came along and there was 
music and the pattering of many little feet, all 
audible in Hannah Lea’s room. Again the 
mother took her child by the hand to lead him 
out-of-doors and make him join in the romping 
and dancing. But Jossele would not have it 
so; he returned to his corner, keeping obsti- 


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nately silent. When father came home in the 
evening, Jossele took a Talmud folio from the 
shelf after supper and father and son began 
to read aloud. Suddenly, in the midst of his 
sing-song recitation, the boy broke down, sob- 
bing, with Hannah Lea following suit. Melr 
rose frowning from his chair, paced the room 
with rapid steps and tugged his beard. None 
asked the other for the cause of this sudden 
agitation — they all knew. Father, mother and 
child were mourning a home that had been and 
was no more. 


CHAPTER XV 


S ULTRY summer days in the middle of 
April are of frequent occurrence in New 
York City. On such a day a hot, moist wind 
blew landward from the sea. Under its 
breath the city air grew warm and hazy. The 
windows of the tenements flew open, one by 
one. Dark crowds that had huddled together 
for warmth in rooms hermetically sealed up 
against the winter-cold, poured forth now in 
human torrents upon the pavement. A hun- 
dred items of winter use — clothing, under- 
garments, pillows and feather-beds, were 
spread now for an airing upon flre-escapes 
and window-sills, a stuffy mass of unsight- 
liness on plain exhibition throughout the 
quarters of the poor. The front-porches be- 
came dwelling places, the very rooms them- 
selves seemed to have been turned out-of- 
doors. Entire families beleaguered the house- 
fronts, conspicuous among them matrons 
with babies at their grossly bared breasts, 
135 


136 


america 


facing the passers-by with the unashamed 
hardihood of local usage. A flurry of bed- 
feathers came whirling from above and the air 
was miasmatic with a mixture of strange 
malodors. High overhead gloomed the struc- 
ture of the elevated railroad. Its trains pass- 
ed every other minute, rumbling from afar, 
thundering nearer and nearer, leaving behind 
them a long trail of oscillating, evil-flavored 
air. 

Into this pandemonium of unseemly sights 
and discordant sounds broke suddenly the 
music of a fife-and-drum corps with a shrill 
rendering of a national song. Behind the 
musicians marched groups of children, a mul- 
ticolored masquerade merrily keeping step 
with the tune — a “May-Walk^’ of little Jos- 
sel^’s class bound for Central Park. Miss 
Isabel, leading Jossele by the hand, marched 
in front. The boy, in his garb of make-believe, 
was changed past all ken. He was supposed 
to be the torchbearer of the ^^royal pair^’ strut- 
ting behind him under a star-spangled canopy 
of blue. In right of his office, the little link- 
boy of royalty wore a white blouse and a 
paper-cap, fantastically feathered. In his 
hand he carried the socket of a torch. His 


3mct{ca 


137 


footsteps were leaden and his carriage bent — 
he felt ill at ease in his fancy dress and resent- 
ful at being made a party to this foolish piece 
of mummery. His schoolmates played their 
several parts in the pageant with the greatest 
gusto. An Italian boy marched behind the 
king and queen in the stage-attire of a field- 
marshal, with a retinue of pages, officers, 
soldiers and servitors. All the children were 
rejoicing. The boys kept step like soldiers, 
the girls scattered fiowers on the road, with 
many pretty curtseys and genuflexions before 
the royal couple. Only Jossele turned a deaf 
ear to fife and drum and to the laughter of 
the children. In the midst of the merry brood 
he walked like an oldster bowed under the 
burden of life-long tribulations. He, the Tal- 
mud scholar, felt it an intolerable degradation 
to walk the streets in broad noon-day, with 
his face painted and with a foolscap for a 
head-covering. As he walked, the ^^aim-and- 
goaP’ demand of Hebrew religious discourse 
kept on buzzing through his brains. Over 
yonder, in Leshna, his erstwhile comrades are 
now sitting at the feet of their teacher. They 
have left him way behind in the study of the 
Talmud^ — and he — he is inextricably mixed 


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up now in the vain follies of this world ! To 
what end? Father stays away all day long 
at his work, in the evening he falls asleep 
with weariness, and his brothers — alas, they 
have ceased to be Jews. And he himself — ^how 
many times had he to resist the Tempter ! He 
was guiltily conscious of being lax now at 
praying — of omitting long passages — of pass- 
ing whole days without any Hebrew on his 
lips — of forgetting, forgetting. . . . 

In vain did Miss Isabel try, time and again, 
to cheer him. Her loving smile, her pleasure 
in the pleasuring of her little wards, her short 
skirt and loose-flowing hair made her look a 
child among children. But hard as she tried, 
she could not make Jossele enter into the 
spirit of the game. All her friendly urgencies 
only made him bow his head deeper and 
deeper in shame and dismay. . . . 

In the most beautiful part of Central Park 
the march came to a halt. Dispersed over the 
softly undulating meadows, the children in 
their gay costumes looked like tulips raising 
their multi-colored calices above the green. 
The pupils of several public-schools, all gone 
a-maying, mingled in play. The teachers — 
pretty young women, one and all — arranged a 


ametica 


139 


number of games in which they themselves 
took part. Miss Isabel romped with her little 
girls, her tresses flowing in the breeze. In 
the midst of her romping she noticed Jossele 
sitting apart under a tree, an indifferent on- 
looker, with something like an ironical smile 
hovering about his bloodless lips. She sat 
down in the grass, close to the little lad, and 
began to talk to him. 

Three weeks of American schooling had 
made Jossele familiar with the pitch and 
rhythm of the English tongue — without dis- 
tinctly knowing the meaning of most words; 
he listened and understood. He found no 
difficulty in understanding the English of 
Miss Isabel. Her eyes, her gentle smile were 
aids to a ready comprehension. With bowed 
head and cheeks reddened with embarrass- 
ment, he listened. She loved the child and her 
pity for his forlornness was a steady flame 
within her. In making up to him, she felt as 
if she were paying a sort of debt to her own 
people in far-off Russia. Over there, in far- 
off Russia, she had left her father behind her. 
She was an infant at the breast, when her 
mother divorced her father, married another 
man, and emigrated with him to America. Of 


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her father she had no tidings ever since. A 
strange conceit took her captive: in the sal- 
low face of little Jossele, in his hollow, 
mournful eyes, she saw the imagined features 
of an unknown father, left behind in far-off 
Kussia. The longer she looked into his wan 
and sallow little face, the stronger did this 
fancy take hold of her. Was her father really 
cast in the likeness of this child? Did he 
have the same sluggish blood, the same gloom- 
ing eyes? . . . What was it Jossele was 
pondering deeply? The workings of. his mind 
were to her a fascinating puzzle. What 
troubles does he meditate in his little head — 
above all, why is. he always and forever wrap- 
ped in gloom? Again her thoughts reverted 
to her father. He is wandering perchance, at 
this very hour, with the same glooming eyes, 
somewhere through the Eussian steppes, his 
bundle on his shoulder, or tramping, maybe, 
the endless highroads of the great Eussian 
Empire. Assuredly, all Jews there walk sad- 
eyed and with bowed heads in the heaviness 
of their spirits. . . . 

^^Where didst thou have that sore?” (Berel 
had told her of Jossele’s tragic return.) 

The boy pointed to the scar now healed and 


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141 


she looked at the spot in fascination, as if it 
were emblematic of Jewish sufferings. 

^^And was this the cause of thy deportation?” 

^^Yes,” replied Jossele in Yiddish. 

^^And how didst thou fare on thy way home- 
ward?” She spoke in Yiddish and English 
by turns. 

^^Good people had compassion with me — 
they saw me safely home.” 

A picture flashed through her brains of a 
one-year old girl-child in her mother^s arms, a 
sore disfiguring her baby-head, mother and 
child turned back in sight of the American 
haven — a retrospective possibility that made 
her wince in self-pity. In her paroxysm of 
sympathetic pain she took the boy to her arms, 
covered him with kisses, and as her hot tears 
fell on his face, she sobbed : 

^Toor, poor Jewish child!” 

When Jossele returned home, the street he 
lived in was brightly alight and swarming 
with human life. All the children were out 
of doors, all the families perched on the front- 
steps. The pushcart-owners made ready to 
light their torches, and the streets, owned 
during the day by women .and children, be- 
gan to fill with men and half-grown lads. At 


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first they arrived singly or in little groups, 
but presently they poured in in hordes. The 
elevated railroad thundering overhead fed 
another batch of arrivals into this dark mass 
every other minute, until the streets, viewed 
from on high, seemed covered with thick 
swarms of locusts. These were the workers 
of the city, come home from their offices and 
sweat-shops. The shopkeepers now lighted 
torches, affixed to the stalls in front of their 
little dens. Their voices rose in a clamorous 
hub-bub, calling upon the crowd to buy their 
ware. With the approach of night the streets 
became livelier and noisier every hour. It 
seemed as if the dwellers therein had slept all 
through the day and were now beginning to 
be astir. To heighten this semblance of 
topsy-turvydom, they bought the morning 
papers from hustling newsboys at late evening 
hours. The restaurants and barrooms filled 
with crowds, mostly young men. The later 
the hour, the stronger the pulse-beat of life 
on the pavements, illumined by the garish 
light of the film-shows and cheap theatres 
abounding in this neighborhood. The win- 
dows of the dwellings are dark, but the streets 
are flooded with light, noisy with traffic, hum- 


amen'ca 


U3 


ming with chatter, resonant with music and 
singing. And every other minute the trains 
overhead, wild beasts with flaming eyes, out- 
roared the noise and commotion of the pave- 
ments below. 

Little Jossele sat upon the front-porch and 
looked upon a world wherein he had no part. 
His mother had dragged him forcibly from 
out of his corner in a sweltering room into 
the open air. His father, stripped to shirt 
and trousers, lay near him in a chair snoring, 
paralyzed with weariness after his day^s 
work. Mother, too, drowsed off on the stoop, 
despite the noise and clamor of the street. 
Chaim and Berel were on the rampage, some- 
where on the streets. Little Jossele sat there, 
disconsolate, his soul divorced from his sur- 
roundings. He paid no heed to the noises of 
night turned into day, his eyes were blind to 
the flood of light from above and below — they 
were peering into the corners of a little 
street in Leshna as it might be under the 
peace of a summer night. From synagogue 
windows is wafted the singsong-chant of 
Talmud students, the moon only illumines the 
street and the cemetery nearby, and father 
and mother ... he awoke out of his day- 


lU 


America 


dream with a start — ^he looked at his 
parents and all at once felt unspeakably 
lonesome, a derelict of the town. This was 
not the father for whom his heart had been 
sore a-hungered in Leshna. He only saw a 
weary and taciturn workman, coming home 
from his labor exhausted, morose and sleepy. 
Not a word of ^^Torah’’ was on his lips these 
days. He scarcely took time to say his morn- 
ing prayers. And mother — she, too, had 
altered for the worse — everything — everything 
was changed. As he gloomed, Hannah Lea 
stirred in her sleep, murmuring: ^^Go, Jos- 
sele, my child — go and play!^’ Suddenly the 
boy felt a stabbing pain in his head. The 
street began to reel, his eyes began to swim, 
his vision turned dim and uncertain. He 
leaned back against the steps, an infinite lassi- 
tude overcame him. His thoughts groped 
forlornly in the dark. In the dark he found 
his way back to Leshna — the town veiled in 
a haze. He was in school, before his old 
teacher. Somebody recited Talmud passages. 
His father\s voice penetrated through the haze, 
sweet and sad, singing a threnody of the Holy 
Temple destroyed — there were swift changes 
in the boy^s mental vision of darkness and 


ametica 


145 


light . . . then, abruptly, came a darkness, 
opaque and impenetrable. . . . 

Jossele’s weary little body lay on the stoop, 
like a piece of litter on the curb, like an out- 
worn garment thrown to the winds. The 
torches burned brightly, the electric lights 
glowed white, the train thundered overhead. 
A hot moisture came from the sea landward, 
the walls of stone and brick exuded the heat 
they had absorbed during the day, and a heavy 
lassitude, harbinger of sickness and death, 
was in the air. 


CHAPTER XVI 


O N the edge of the boy’s bed of suffering sat 
Miss Isabel, holding his tiny hand in hers, 
looking steadfastly into his eyes. Jossele’s 
face was flushed, his dark eyes a-glitter with 
fever. A pathetic smile, familiar by this time 
to Miss Isabel, hovered about his lips. His 
neck, deadly white and meager, stood out from 
his bony shoulders, his chest labored heavily 
in breathing. From time to time Miss Isabel 
put upon his burning head the lumps of ice 
handed her by Hannah Lea on a platter. 
Hannah Lea had ceased weeping. Her visible 
exhaustion had dried up in her the very foun- 
tain whence her tears used to spring so freely. 

Meir paced the room with troubled steps, 
rough-handled his beard, bit his lips, with now 
and then a groan he couldn’t suppress. When 
the boy called out to him, he went to his bed 
and eyed him in silence. The room was still, 
sultry, and dark. The light in a little oil-lamp 
had been turned down to the merest pinpoint 
146 


ameti'ca 


147 


of a flame to keep the air untainted, bift the 
atmosphere was hot and lifeless for all that, 
and its withering influence came near pros- 
trating the entire family. Little Eachel and 
the ^^bandits’’ sprawled on the floor in half a 
swoon, trying to cool their flushed faces by 
pressing them against the ground. They were 
lying motionless as if asleep, but all were 
drowsily awake, drawing breath with difficulty 
in an atmosphere that seemed to be afire. 

For it was one of those New York summer 
nights when the air seems to be simmering like 
a pot a-boiling. All limbs relax, all living 
beings turn faint, all men and women seem to 
lose the very power of exertion, however brief, 
Such nights carry a sinister suggestion that 
New York, heat-slain, won’t awaken to rise in 
the morning. 

Ever since the first onslaught of the heat- 
wave Jossele was ailing. His sufferings passed 
unnoticed for three weeks, until high fever set 
in and the boy had to be put to bed. The fever 
in his veins was matched by his mute heart- 
burnings after the old Jewish life he had left 
behind him. Hollowed-eyed, he looked at his 
own people, a stranger among strangers. 

Miss Isabel was the only human being whose 


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friendly advances he didn^t repel. He crouched 
and cowered, he took neither nourishment nor 
medicine, his little body shrank to infantile 
proportions. He had never been sturdy, and 
his sufferings, physical and mental, paved the 
way now for the inroads of the heat. At last, 
he withdrew completely within himself, sub- 
mitting passively even to the approaches of 
Miss Isabel, removed in the spirit beyond this 
world and the dwellers therein. His fleshless 
body, his delirious eyes, his motionless limbs 
and speechless lips were so many melancholy 
tokens of renunciation — outworn garments of 
his soul to be forthwith discarded without 
struggle or protest. . . . 

The room was plainly unfit to live in. His 
mother lifted his pathetically thin and shrunk- 
en body in her arms and carried him out-of- 
doors. Miss Isabel took leave of Hannah Lea, 
She bent over the sufferer, but he looked at her 
with unseeing -eyes. 

There was little solace waiting out-doors for 
mother or child. The air, breezeless and 
stifling, pressed upon the people of the pave- 
ments with the enervating insistence of an 
inescapable embrace. Entire families seemed 
heat-struck in their torpid lumping on the 


ametica 


149 


front-stoops. The children slept prostrate on 
the pavements, if their semi-stupor could be 
called sleep. Their mothers bathed their fore- 
heads with grimy little lumps of ice. 

In her frantic search for a whiff of life- 
giving air, Hannah Lea sat down with her 
burden in the middle of the roadway. Jossele 
didn’t stir. His body was visibly in the throes 
of dissolution — but to what unknown regions 
had he carried his silent soul? 

Behold : he walks a white and luminous road, 
as white and as luminous as the star-spangled 
heavens on a cloudless night — and with him are 
walking in multitudinous procession an end- 
less number of Jews. Jews are assembled here 
from every quarter of the globe — the quick and 
the dead risen from their graves — generations 
of Jev^s past all counting — for the Messiah has 
come, amidst a resurrection of the dead. There 
he stands, above the people, wrapped in a big 
prayer-shawl, and around him are grouped all 
the patriarchs and prophets of the old dispen- 
sation, all saints and scholars that ever walked 
the earth, among them the Eabbi of Leshna — 
gone to his reward but the other day, but 
plainly visible now to Jossele as he walked in 
the flesh. A funeral procession keeps step 


150 


America 


before the Messiah — a saint belike, a great one 
in Israel must have died — he is carried now to 
his resting place, lifted high above the heads 
of the community assembled in his honor. 
But wonder of wonders — the mourners in his 
train seem to be jubilating over his release 
from earthly tribulations ! Levites are striking 
harp-chords, flutes mingle in the strain, choirs 
of devotees — all eager for the honor to lend a 
hand as pall-bearers. Archmother Kachel 
walks behind the great departed one, in 
statuesque beauty, her head towering high 
above the heads of a community giving way to 
her in profoundest reverence. Behind her, 
behold the patriarchs, ancients with magnifi- 
cent white beards, and in their wake Moses and 
his brother Aaron, both of giant build and 
awe-inspiring carriage. Follows King David, 
royally alone, harp in hand, a youth of graceful 
mien. Behind him the other Kings of Israel, 
in the order of their succession, with the 
prophets in their train all clad in white; the 
just and the pious of all generations, and finally 
Kol Yisroel — all Jews that ever lived. The path 
they walk is luminous and bright — it leads to a 
heaven visible and beckoning in the prospect 
— -a heaven radiant like an ocean of color and 


ametica 


151 


light — a vision well nigh unbearable to human 
eyes in its splendor. Angels are seen in their 
halo, drawn up to the right and left to receive 
the approaching funeral procession. More 
angels — farther vistas — more unearthly splen- 
dors — little Jossele has a sudden intuition: it 
is he whose body they are carrying in triumph ! 
Light, unearthly, undying, inconceivably bril- 
liant light — ^the Messiah has reached the 
heavens! A blinding ocean of luminous rays 
encompasses little Jossele — ^triumphant Hosan- 
nahs — ^then stillness and everlasting darkness 
.... he expired suddenly without a struggle 

in the arms of Hannah Lea. . . . 

* * * 

When Hannah Lea returned from Jossele’s 
funeral, the same feeling that had beset her 
upon leaving the graves of her children in the 
cemetery of Leshna now gripped her with irre- 
sistible force. Her only thought was: How 
can I leave this country, with my little one 
holding me to the soil he sleeps in? 

And she knows that she is chained hence- 
forward to this alien and unfriendly soil until 
the end, incapable of leaving the spot that 
hides her treasure underneath. 



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